


i'll ask not for your hand, but only your heart instead

by arevo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi has a lot of daddy issues, Coming Out, Established Relationship, M/M, Minor Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Tetsurou, Post-High School, Secret Relationship, University, akaashi cant play competitively anymore, akaashi is a bartender, also akaashi and kuroo both work in a host club, angsty fluff, kuroo and bokuto both play for the university, kuroo is a host, the tsukishima bros live together, tsukishima wasn't going to bother without a scholarship so he's not playing either, welcome to the mess, yep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2018-07-14 04:17:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7153160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arevo/pseuds/arevo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which chance has brought Tsukishima Kei and Akaashi Keiji together and they've been together for a while now. Of course, no one knows - their friends, their families. Akaashi is determined to keep their secret just that, particularly from his distant father, but Tsukishima isn't happy with pretending that they're only friends.</p><p>Akiteru is getting married, and Tsukishima wants to be able to dance with his boyfriend there and be free to express his feelings openly. "It's complicated" has become a mantra that tastes evermore bitter to Akaashi, who wants exactly that and more without sacrificing the fragile relationship he has with his only family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first fic i've ever written, oh jeez. all because i wanted to put them in suits. 
> 
> akaashi and tsukishima are both students (3rd and 2nd years) right now, btw
> 
> kinda based on an RP taking place far prior to this.

“I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

Kei looked up from his laptop, raising his eyebrows as he slid his headphones down around his neck. He surreptitiously minimized the window. “Sorry?”

Akiteru inhaled deeply, like he might be about to submerge in some body of water. “I’m going to ask Yuki to marry me.”

“Okay,” Kei said flatly. About fucking time. “Good for you.” 

“No, wait. Kei.” Akiteru teetered in the doorway, looking more self-conscious than Kei had seen him in quite some time. Especially when it came to matter regarding his very lively girlfriend, Yuki Kyousuke, Akiteru wasn’t particularly shy. 

Kei frowned. “What?”

Akiteru exhaled sharply, a sigh collapsed into a single note. “I’m … nervous. About asking her to marry me,” he said, running a hand over his face. There was giddiness in his voice, but also a deep apprehension. 

Kei turned, rotating to face his brother entirely. “Why? It’s not like she’s going to say no.” 

Akiteru, unable to contain his nervous energy any longer, strode through the doorway into Kei’s room and began pacing, talking the whole time. “What if she does though? I mean, what if her parents actually don’t like me? Or her dog? Or-“

“Yuki-san doesn’t have a dog,” Kei interjected.

“But what if we get one and it doesn’t like me? She always says that you can’t trust someone your dog doesn’t like cause they have secret canine knowledge about a person’s moral fibre,” Akiteru exclaimed, waving his hands in the air. “And what if she says yes? Then we’d have to actually plan a wedding and it all becomes real and it’s forever and what if she decides that that’s too long?”

“Then you get a divorce?” Kei said. 

“How could you even say that?” Akiteru gasped.

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting, Akiteru?” Kei sighed. “She’s not going to say no.” 

Kei was sure that Yuki, who had been an endearing pester to him since the start, who was forward and headstrong and stubbourn, who worked at the cake shop with the best strawberry shortcake, who laughed at Akiteru’s stupid antics until she was crying, would absolutely say yes. 

“And when has any dog actually not liked you? Seriously,” Kei added, rolling his eyes. 

Sobering slightly, Akiteru slumped down on the edge of Kei’s bed. “I just … I love her so much, Kei. If she says no, I might die on the spot,” he said quietly. 

Kei watched his older brother for a moment before sighing softly and standing. Padding across, he raised his hand and karate chopped Akiteru on the head. The latter yelped, covering his new wound with both hands. 

“What was that for?”

“You’re an idiot.”

Akiteru looked at him like he’d been kicked.

“She loves you, doesn’t she?” Kei demanded. 

He nodded.

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” Kei said, hands on his hips, staring down his brother. 

Akiteru blinked, before leaping to his feet and clapping Kei’s face between his hands. “You’re right. Thanks, Kei.” He ruffled his hair before dashing out of the room. 

Kei huffed in annoyance, flattening his hair and muttering to himself, “Idiot.”

Returning to his seat, he slid his headphones back on and reopened the window he’d closed. 

“Sorry,” he said.

The somewhat grainy shot of a dark-haired boy bobbed his head in understanding. “It’s fine, Tsukishima.”

“Now I get why he’s been acting weird lately.”

“Will he be alright?” Akaashi asked. The lights in his house were mostly out, and the brightness of his laptop screen washed all the colour out of his face. 

Tsukishima waved a hand. “He’ll be fine. What were you saying before, Akaashi-senpai?”

Akaashi shook his head, raising one finger in a chastising way. “Just Akaashi.”

“Fine. Akaashi.” The name, stripped of its honourifics, tasted savoury on his tongue. 

“My father is coming to stay with me next week, so we may not be able to see each other,” Akaashi said solemnly. His shoulders slumped.

“He still doesn’t know,” Kei said flatly, lips turning down.

“If I have my way, my father will never know,” Akaashi said in a tone that was both serious and apologetic. “He wouldn’t accept it, let alone understand.”

Kei made a face. “It’s not his decision, Akaashi-sen- … Akaashi.”

Akaashi sighed softly. “It’s complicated, Tsukishima.” 

“Your relationship with him is complicated, I get it,” Kei said heatedly. They’d had this fight many times before, and it was turning into a bed of coals beneath them both, threatening to burn them unexpectedly. “But this, this is the relationship between you and me. I am not your father. It shouldn’t be complicated between us.”

Akaashi scowled, nose crinkling. “I don’t want to fight.” 

“Neither do I,” Kei said shortly. 

But the mood had turned sour. Akaashi’s expression became neutral again, his default, and Kei did his best to erase his annoyance. No one could deal with their relationships today. 

“I’m going to bed. I have class in the morning,” Kei said after a long silence. 

Akaashi nodded, throat bobbing. He’d drawn his knees to his chest. Kei could see him about to say something guiltily, so he added, “Text me when your dad is there so I know. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Akaashi nodded, swallowing. “Good night, Tsukishima.” 

“Good night, Akaashi.” 

Kei closed his laptop. At least Akiteru didn’t have to worry about his partner’s resistance to even admitting they were in a relationship to his parent.  
A dog would be a piece of cake. 

Sighing, he removed his headphones and turned off his light. 

 

Kei dragged his feet into the kitchen, stifling a yawn as he made a bee-line for the coffee pot. The sun was blazing in full force already and Kei had snoozed both his phone and his alarm clock repeatedly. He’d had a hard time falling a sleep, caught up in a certain kind of dread about Akaashi choosing his fake safety in the eyes of his critical father over his relationship with Tsukishima, and anger at the mere possibility. He felt a little bit of guilt for getting mad at Akaashi too - it was complicated for Akaashi to navigate between the two relationships - and frustrated about it at the same time. 

He was too busy glaring at happy flowers and blinding sunlight to hear Akiteru enter the room until he was throwing his arms around him from behind.

“Wha-“ Kei started, as Akiteru picked him up and swung him around, much to Kei’s agitation. It was too early for this. 

“She said yes!” Akiteru crowed. He released Kei, holding his arms out wide. Kei thought he might be able to compete with the sun in beaming at that moment.

“Told you so,” he grumbled, turning back to the coffee pot with his empty mug. Thankfully, it hadn’t been full when Akiteru spun him around. 

“Would it kill you to be a bit more excited about it?”

“Sorry.” Kei turned to him with a flat expression, raised his hand and punched the air mechanically. “Woo. Congratulations.” 

Akiteru huffed. “How did the rest of your digital date go?”

“It wasn’t a da - wait, what?”

“You were on Skype with Akaashi when I came in, right?” Akiteru tilted his head to his side. 

Kei refused to say anything, taking a drink of his coffee.

“I could hear you talking to yourself, Kei. It’s not that hard to figure out.” 

“Fine. I was Skyping with Akaashi. That doesn’t mean it was date,” Kei said gruffly.

Akiteru grinned slyly, poking Kei’s cheek. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not!” he snapped, turning on his heel and storming out of the kitchen with his coffee.

 

Keiji evidently hadn’t slept well either, groggily spooning instant coffee into his mug. Kei was right - their relationship shouldn’t be complicated because of Akaashi’s issues. He turned the mug so the handle sat parallel with the edge of the counter. He kept telling himself it was less complicated this way. Better for his father to remain ignorant, even if it made for splinters between Tsukishima and himself. 

Throwing his spoon into the sink, he wondered if he was honestly choosing his cold, distant father over Tsukishima, who was clever and sarcastic and still made his heart speed up.  
Keiji hated to think he’d be the kind of person who’d do that.

He took a deep breath to calm himself. It was only then he realized that he’d forgotten to turn the kettle on. His solitary apartment was too silent at that moment, even as the kettle began to rumble. Keiji leaned over the sink and slid open the kitchen window, even though it was only early spring. He exhaled softly as the noise of the streets streamed in on the cool breeze, birds singing and the occasional car. 

He wasn’t sure it would be any better when his father was here. 

The kettle clicked and the rumbling died off quickly. Akaashi poured, stirring until the grounds and water made some passable imitation of coffee, and went to get changed for class. 

 

Kei slid his glasses back up his nose, bracing his other hand against his knees. Each heaving breath felt harsh and the stitch forming in his side made him want to lie down and never get up. “I hate you,” he wheezed, looking through his lashes at the ever composed Akaashi. His chest rose and fell at the same pace as Kei’s, and while sweat had turned the back of his shirt dark, his expression was passive and he stood tall as usual.

Seeing Kei’s tired glare, he smiled, and the blond thought maybe he’d lost his breath all over again. “Thank you for coming.” 

“Like I ever say no,” Kei rebuffed him, gaze dropping to the velcro and metal monstrosity holding Akaashi’s knee together while they ran. “I still don’t think you should be running at all.”

Akaashi turned to look out over the river, leaning on his good leg. “I know.” A simple acknowledgement. 

Kei stood, clutching his side. “At least slow down. Christ,” he amended.

“What a waste. To have such long legs, and yet you can’t keep up.” He shook his head, tsk-ing. 

“Rude.”

Akaashi chuckled. They settled into a comfortable silence as they turned around to head back to Akaashi’s apartment. Sakura blossoms bore down the limbs of the trees they passed, filtering sunlight.

“So next week-“ Kei started, but stopped, not wanting to ruin the serenity. 

Too late.

Akaashi sighed very softly, barely more than a regular exhalation, and nodded. “He’ll be here on Sunday. His return flight is on Saturday.”

Kei deflated, shoulders slumping a fraction. “Great,” he said sarcastically. 

Akaashi stepped closer and carefully interlaced his fingers with Kei’s. “I’m sorry to put you in this position, Tsukishima.” 

Kei gently passed his thumb back and forth across Akaashi’s knuckle. “I’ll live,” he said, faking at indifference. 

Akaashi squeezed his hand - firmly, desperately, gratefully - before releasing it. A gaggle of high school students rounded the corner ahead of them. 

“We’ll still see each other,” Akaashi said, and his tone was hard to decipher.

“We’ll see each other,” he snorted, “and pretend that nothing is going on and it’s all fine.” 

Akaashi’s jaw clenched. “Tsukishima,” he said softly. 

“Whatever. It’s fine,” Kei said abruptly, shaking his head and adjusting his glasses. “It’s one week. It’ll be fine.” 

“Tsukish-“

“Let’s go, slow poke.” Kei took off running, even though his lungs were burning and the stitch in his side returned almost immediately. Akaashi was beside him within moments, his stride meticulous and swift, and there he stayed until they were both leaning against the wall outside Akaashi’s apartment, panting and dripping with sweat. 

 

Keiji leaned back against the chair, pressing the ice against his sore knee. The sound of Tsukishima’s shower leaked into the apartment through the ajar bathroom door. He hated the thought of losing this routine for a week - running together, making a meal, getting ready for the rest of the day in the same space. 

They couldn’t live together, even though Keiji sometimes fantasized about it. About coming home to Tsukishima’s sarcasm and his bright golden eyes. About listening to Tsukishima talk about his day with the reckless abandon that came over him at the end of a long day, and about having someone to tell his day to. About not being lonely in his own home. It was fantasy that had started to collect in each little crevice of his apartment with each day they spent like this. This routine had become something he could cling to in the meantime.

“How’s your knee?” Tsukishima asked, startling Keiji from his thoughts. He looked over at the blond hovering in the doorway of the bathroom, a towel tied chastely around his hips. Although he was squinting without his glasses and his hair was flattened by water, the vision of Tsukishima like this never failed to inspire butterflies in his stomach. 

“Just sore,” he replied. Tsukishima narrowed his eyes at him, and Keiji couldn’t be sure if it was to see better or out of suspicion. “I’m icing it. Carry on.” 

Tsukishima paused before making a quick ‘I’m-watching-you’ motion, pointing to his own eyes then at Keiji, and disappeared back into the bathroom. 

Tsukishima had been opposed to the idea of Keiji running. After his career ending injury in high school, and the gruelling year of recovery that followed, Tsukishima was worried - understandably - that Keiji would re-injure himself. But Keiji had started running on his own some months before. When Tsukishima realized there was no talking Keiji out of it, he elected to join him, in case he did hurt himself again. It was an arrangement they could both live with. 

Keiji flipped over his ice pack as Tsukishima returned from the bathroom in jeans and a dark blue sweater that made his eyes stand out. His hair was still damp as he leaned over to kiss Keiji. 

It lasted far less than Keiji would have liked, but he smiled anyways. 

“What time do you get off work?” Tsukishima asked, sitting in the next chair and picking at the corner of the damp ice pack. 

“At eleven. Why?” Keiji raised a hand to run his fingers through Tsukishima’s short hair, pulling out the few tangles that remained.

“Akiteru and Yuki went back to Miyagi this weekend to tell Mom and Dad about the engagement. I thought,” Kei said slowly, carefully, “we could utilize the time.” 

Warmth spread through Keiji’s chest. “Yes,” he agreed, hooking a finger into the neck of Tsukishima’s shirt and gently pulling him closer, pressing their lips together. 

“I’ll pick you up from work?” Tsukishima confirmed, smiling. 

It was like the full moon beaming, brighter than every star in the sky. 

Keiji nodded, a strange new giddiness flooding his veins. 

A dream before the long dark night. 

 

Kei couldn’t help but think that he was out of place amidst all the bright neon lights of Shinjuku. A girl in a low-cut dress hanging outside the doorway of the club next door kept whistling and calling him, and his patience was beginning to run thin. He looked at his watch again. 11:15.  
Akaashi was late. Akaashi was never late.

Worry started to gnaw at him. Was he okay? He didn’t like that Akaashi worked in a host club to start with - even if he was only waiting tables and running the bar, it made him jealous to think that there were so many people in there who got to have illusions of intimacy with his Akaashi when he couldn’t hold his hand in public.  
He was dialling Akaashi’s phone number when he recognized the gait of a figure coming from the alleyway beside the club. Akaashi stepped out of the shadows, and it was like he’d stepped out of another world. 

His dark hair was mussed wildly, but as though on purpose, lit by the lights that winked and dazzled. His shirt, silk and a deep plum purple that brought colour to his face, was undone one button and rolled into neat cuffs just below his elbow. Black dress pants hugged his hips and fell perfectly around his crisp black dress shoes. All of him was bright and ethereal, and Kei felt very small with the hole he’d worn in the cuff of his sweater, a foreigner. 

Akaashi came to rest before him, adjusting the band of his watch as he said, “I’m sorry I’m late. It was busier than-“

“You’re beautiful,” Kei interrupted him. His voice was strangely breathless. 

Akaashi inspected Kei’s face for a moment. Gently, he took Kei’s hand - a rare and bold move - and raised it to his lips, kissing his knuckles. 

“Thank you for coming to get me,” he said, releasing Kei. 

Shaking his head to clear it, Kei said, “I should be jealous.” 

“Why?”

“Because the people in there get to see you like this every night.”

Akaashi frowned, turning his back on the lights and noise of Shinjuku. 

“What?” Kei asked. 

“Tsukishima, I have glitter on my face,” he said, voice tinged with exasperation. “This- this isn’t-“ Akaashi gestured vaguely at his attire. “This is work. That’s all.”

Kei frowned.

“What I mean to say is that it is all fake. It’s an act. There’s nothing to be jealous of.” 

A long moment of silence stretched out between them, a thread of tension, as Kei exhaled softly and tugged at his sweater cuffs. 

“Akaashi, why don’t you host?” Kei asked. His voice was woven with expectation and insecurity. 

Akaashi’s frown deepened, but it was a different kind of frown. “You’re vastly overestimating my acting abilities,” he said. “And my threshold for alcohol.” 

Kei snorted. “I’m surprised you’re not staggering from the fumes alone,” he agreed. He’d been present more than once when Akaashi met his limit unexpectedly, and Kuroo and Bokuto goaded him into ridiculous tests of courage and mettle. For such a reserved and controlled person, Akaashi was incredibly susceptible to suggestion when his inhibitions were lowered. 

“Do you mind if I call a cab? I want to get the glitter off my face,” Akaashi asked. While his expression was as unfettered as usual, Kei could see now the flecks of reflection on his cheek bones and just how out of sorts it was. 

He shook his head. 

 

“What are you looking at?” Tsukishima asked indignantly, squinting at Keiji where he stood by the door, holding a mug of tea in each hand. 

Tsukishima’s glasses were in his hands, probably in the midst of cleaning, and he’d exchanged his jeans for sweat pants while Keiji washed the sparkles from his face. He was half-buried under the blanket they’d pulled from Keiji’s bed and his long legs stretched out in front of him, comfortable. The Jurassic Park DVD menu restarted abruptly, disrupting its own score. 

Keiji shook his head, placing a cup on the coffee table in front of him. “Is this the new one?”

“Mm,” Tsukishima hummed affirmatively, sliding his glasses back on as Keiji settled beside him. “Is your knee bothering you?” he asked, reaching over to run his finger along the edge of Keiji’s tensor knee-brace. 

“It was a busy night,” he replied softly, as Tsukishima ran his cool fingers under the edge of the tensor brace where it irritated his skin. “I tripped.”

“What happened?” Tsukishima’s voice was quiet, but tinged with alarm.

“A guest knocked her purse out of the booth. I didn’t see it,” Keiji said dispassionately. “Kuroo was right there. It was fine.”

The movie started on its own, tired of waiting for them. 

“Use your eyes more,” Tsukishima chided him, but let him take his hand, interlacing their long fingers and leaning against his side. 

“The new t-rex in this one is impressive,” Keiji said, smirking.

“The new t-rex is fucking UNNATURAL, Akaashi. Totally fucking unnecessary. Did you know-“ 

Keiji smiled, settling in to learn about all the scientific inaccuracies in the Jurassic Park films all over again, his heart warm. 

 

“That’s amazing, Bokuto-san,” Keiji said with faint appreciation. He trailed his fingers over the bare curve of Tsukishima’s shoulder, skin awash in cool morning sunlight. 

“-And then Kuroo totally shut down that number four and you should have seen his face, Akaashi, there was practically steam coming out of his ears-“ Bokuto rambled on, voice quieted by Keiji’s phone. 

Tsukishima mumbled in his sleep, and Keiji could feel the murmur of his lips against his collarbone. It felt surreal- their legs tangled, Tsukishima’s arm stretched across the dip of Keiji’s waist with his face buried in his neck, the sheer warmth of their bodies pressed together. 

“- And then he totally touched the net and the ref didn’t even call it! Can you believe it?”

Keiji hummed affirmatively. 

It was, indeed, hard to believe. 

“Akaashi, are you even listening?” Bokuto demanded when Keiji didn’t respond fast enough to something he had said.

“I’m sorry, Bokuto-san. I’m just tired,” he said quietly. He didn’t want to wake Tsukishima. 

“It’s nearly 10 and you were still asleep when I called. Kuroo said you got off at 11.” Bokuto sounded accusatory.

“It’s nothing, Bokuto-san. Can I call you back later?” Keiji asked. 

Confused, Bokuto hesitantly agreed, and Keiji set his phone aside. 

“Whozzat?” Tsukishima grumbled, arm encircling Keiji’s waist and pulling him close. He pressed a dozy kiss on his throat. 

“Just Bokuto,” Keiji whispered, running his fingers through Tsukishima’s hair.

“Why th’fuck d’you answer?” 

“He gets paranoid and comes over if I don’t answer after a couple calls.” 

“Annoying.” 

Keiji chuckled quietly. “Would you like some coffee?”

Tsukishima looked up at him, golden eyes bleary. “Not if all you have is that instant crap you like so much,” he griped. 

“It’s not that bad, Tsukishima.”

“You’re drinking the liquid equivalent of car tires.”

“It’s convenient.”

“Akaashi, it’s barely mud.”

“It’s caffeinated.”

“So is Mountain Dew.”

“Mountain Dew?”

Tsukishima flicked his chest. “I went through a phase, okay?” 

Keiji couldn’t help himself - he started to laugh, the sound rumbling through his body. Tsukishima scowled, untangling himself enough to rest on the pillow next to Keiji. 

“What’s so funny about it?”

“You won’t drink instant coffee, but you had a Mountain Dew phase,” Keiji laughed. 

Tsukishima was quiet for a moment, watching Keiji laugh and how his eyes crinkled at the corners. Smiling, he said, “I was wrong. All those people in that club should be jealous of  
me.”

“Why?” Keiji asked, laughter falling away.

“I get to see you like this,” he said, leaning his forehead against Keiji’s. “And they don’t.”

Keiji kissed him, fingers sliding around his shoulders to pull him in closer, as though he could hold them together like this forever. Tsukishima kissed him back, winding a hand in the soft trusses of his dark hair, his other hand finding purchase on Keiji’s low back. His cool fingers made constellations on his skin, and he gasped softly against Tsukishima’s mouth. Tsukishima’s lips curved in a smile, sliding his hand up Keiji’s spine and delighting in the shiver that resulted.

“Stop that,” he breathed, eyes bright.

“Or what?” Tsukishima challenged.

“I’ll never leave this bed again.”

Tsukishima grinned. “Good.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this took me so long and i am sorry. let the angst begin.

 

They whiled away the afternoon with coffee at the cafe around the corner, making halfway successful efforts on their homework and perusing takeout menus after Akaashi’s attempt to make spaghetti backfired terribly. Kei fiddled with the not-quite-long-enough sleeves of Akaashi’s sweater, his armour against the rising pressure of Akaashi’s father’s arrival.

Akaashi refused to keep his hands to himself, anxious fingers finding calm in the lines of Kei’s palms, in the loops of his jeans and the line of his jaw. He read aloud to Kei while they waited on food, and the pressure squeezed in between each breath he took. It hitched in his lungs and bit at his words. Eventually, Kei raised his head from the pillow of his own arm on the table and interrupted Akaashi.

“Stop thinking about it,” he said.

“I’m not.”

“You didn’t even ask what I was talking about,” he said flatly, reaching over and plucking the book from Akaashi’s hands. “You’re stressing out.”

His lips tightened and he didn’t reply.

Kei sighed. “Look, I know it’s complicated and you don’t want to talk about it, but what happened?”

Akaashi inhaled and exhaled a long breath, control and composure rebuilding around him like castle walls. “You’re right. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Can I at least ask why he’s staying here?”

“Because he doesn’t live in Japan,” Akaashi said shortly, collecting the takeout menus strewn across the table and shuffling them into a neat pile.

It was barely an answer. Kei reached across and unstacked the pile, lining up each menu next to each other like tiles. Akaashi exhaled softly. Kei stood up slowly, leaning over and placing his hands on the back of Akaashi’s chair. He pressed a gentle kiss against his dark hair, and Akaashi wrapped his hands in Kei’s shirt, pressing his face against his chest.

“I don’t want you to go,” he whispered.

Kei’s heart skipped as he smoothed Akaashi’s hair away from his face. “Then I won’t.”

 

 

Sunday arrived and Keiji swallowed his apprehension, waiting among the crowd for arrivals. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back, and he could feel the thud of his own heartbeat like an echo.

“It’s not like he’s staying forever,” Tsukishima had said flippantly, downplaying his own anxiety in the only way he knew how.

It felt like a cruelty at the hands of fate to trade his time with Tsukishima for his cold, challenging father.

 _Nothing I do is good enough for him,_ he caught himself thinking.

Jaw tightening until it ached, Keiji struggled to banish the thought. His grades were impeccable, and his work attendance was perfect. His reputation was no more sullied than it had been the last time he’d seen his father.

So what if he didn’t have a girlfriend. So what if he didn’t want one. So what if the person that made his heart race was male.

It didn’t matter - Akaashi Hiroshi would never know.

Speak of the devil.

Hiroshi looked no different than the last time they’d been together in person, if not a bit more tan and with a few more silver hairs appearing at his temples. He was looking at his phone, and Keiji knew from his posture that he was irritated, although his expression gave nothing away. Pocketing it, he looked up, his eyes scanning the crowd for his son.

His brows creased a fraction as his gaze fell on Keiji.

Keiji had been leaning all his weight on his good leg, his ruined knee aching, but he shifted his weight evenly, ignoring the impulse to bow his shoulders.

“Hello Keiji,” Hiroshi said, inclining his head.

“Welcome home, Father,” Keiji said, bowing. He accepted the briefcase his father passed him.

Hiroshi smiled thinly. “Are you doing well?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you. And you?”

“Yes.”

“How was your flight?”

“Uneventful.”

Keiji was praying for some sort of reprieve from this awkwardly formal small talk as they crossed the airport to hail a taxi. But there was none - although he knew his phone was accumulating text messages, he was still with his father.

In the quiet of the cab, stuck in gridlock Tokyo traffic, Hiroshi asked, “Are you seeing anyone lately, Keiji?”

He forced his hands to be still, his jaw to stay relaxed, the restlessness tightening around his trachea. Latently, he was realizing that he’d left his father with a monopoly on his given name. Keiji had never given it to anyone else. It irked him.

“School and work have kept me busy.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“No, I’m not seeing anyone right now.” The words stung his throat.

“Why not?” Hiroshi’s voice was light, but controlled.

“As I said, I’ve been busy with work and school.”

“Mm,” he hummed. Keiji couldn’t help but think it was a withheld disapproval.

The rest of the cab ride was silent and uncomfortable. Hiroshi checked his phone often, lip curling faintly. Something wasn’t going his way.

Keiji didn’t feel like this was going his way either. His knuckles where white where his hands were clasped in his lap.

“Keiji, do you work tomorrow night?” Hiroshi asked suddenly, sharp gaze falling on his statuesque son.

“Yes, I do,” Keiji replied, daring to meet his father’s gaze. “Why?”

“When do you have a night off?”

“Thursday. I have an evening class.”

“Hm,” Hiroshi murmured, and this time it was definitely unhappy. “What time do you have classes?”

Keiji narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“I thought we could go out for lunch.”

Unease blossomed painfully in his abdomen. “I thought you’d be busy with work.”

“There’s some colleagues I’d like you to meet.”

“Ah,” Keiji managed. Although it had been under Hiroshi’s insistence that Keiji ended up in the international business program, he’d made nary a motion to actually involve him. Keiji had always been apprehensively grateful for that. That relief ebbed away like a tide escaping back to the sea. He forced himself to relax his tight hands. “You should have told me sooner.”

“If I had known they would be here at the same time, I would have,” Hiroshi said coolly. “I trust you will find the time.”

All the words he might have said stuck thickly in his throat. He nodded.

“Good.”

 

 

As usual, the line-up for coffee at the university was long and confusing. Keiji stifled yet another yawn, his sleepless night catching up with him.

“Late night?” a voice drawled, not unfriendly. Keiji sighed.

“Kuroo-san.”

“Your old man’s in town, huh?” Kuroo joined Keiji in line, tucking his phone in his pocket. His hair stuck out in all directions. ‘It’s getting long again. It looks so stupid when it does that,’ Keiji thought to himself.

“Yeah. What gave it away?”

“Because nothing stresses you out like your old man visiting.” He laughed at Keiji’s grimace. “Plus, Bo was worried about you.”

“It’s only Tuesday.”

“He said you haven’t texted or called him since Sunday. Me either.”

His grimace deepened.

“So how long is he here?”

“A week.”

Kuroo gave a low whistle. “That’s longer than usual.”

Keiji nodded, adjusting the strap of his bag and glancing at his watch. Only another fifteen minutes until class; not much time at all.

“Oi, Tsukki!” Kuroo called, raising his hand to hail the tall blond entering the cafe. Keiji’s breath caught silently.

Tsukishima looked up, annoyed, but beelined through the other students towards them. “How many times do I have to ask you not to call me that, Kuroo-san?”

“I like it,” Kuroo teased, grinning his cheshire grin.

“It’s _my_ name,” Tsukishima muttered. “Akaashi-senpai has never had a problem saying it correctly.” He glanced towards Keiji, meeting his eyes. Despite his scowl, his eyes were golden and bright, and Keiji could feel the band of anxiety around his lungs slacken. He’d nearly forgotten how easy breathing is supposed to be.

“Not in public,” Kuroo teased, raising his brows. A grin painted his mouth in familiar colours. Tsukishima stiffened infinitesimally. Keiji, despite himself, coloured faintly. Over the years, he’d come to love Kuroo’s exceptionally perceptive nature, but over the last few months with Tsukishima, he’d also come to dread it.

“Not so far,” Tsukishima said flatly, “Has Bokuto-san mangled yours yet?”

Keiji snorted into his hand, failing to stifle his laugh as Kuroo scoffed loudly.

The line pressed forward, inching ever closer to the counter, winding between tables and chairs. Keiji and Tsukishima were squeezed together between two tables, Kuroo behind them. Tsukishima flicked idly through his phone, looking through his music.

“Is that the new album?” Kuroo asked, looking over their shoulders.

“It came out last year, so no, not really,” he replied, not bothering to look up. His free hand brushed against Keiji’s, warm and reassuring, each knuckle and callous familiar.

“Is that Girls Generation?” Kuroo asked incredulously, eyebrows rising. “You like k-pop?”

Tsukishima’s raised his head and turned to stare down his upperclassman. “And if I do?” he challenged.

Keiji smiled silently to himself as Kuroo and Tsukishima started a petty disagreement about the merits of different Korean pop bands, brushing hands with the boy he loved. It somehow turned the chill of his father into a faded sensation.

“Tsukki, what are you doing tonight?” Kuroo asked, changing the subject suddenly as they shuffled forward again, space opening up between them.

“Why?”

“Come play some two on two with us tonight.”

Tsukishima’s brows came together, nose wrinkling. “I’d rather hug a cactus.”

“You are a cactus, Tsukki. Take a break from studying for once. You’ll turn into a boring old man. Akaashi, you should come play too.”

“I can’t. I have work tonight,” Keiji said, not happily. “But you should still go, Tsukishima.”

Tsukishima scowled at him. “Why? Without you, we wouldn’t even have four players.”

Kuroo shook his head. “We can wrangle a couple more if we have to.”

“Then you don’t need me,” Tsukishima complained.

“Maybe, but I want you two. Play for fun, you know?” Kuroo sounded pained to admit it, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

Tsukishima scowled at his phone for a moment, before sighing. “Fine. I’ll come for a bit,” he conceded.

Kuroo grinned so brightly that Tsukishima stepped away from him. “Christ. Don’t look so happy about it.”

He laughed.

 

 

The low lights and constant noise made it hard to concentrate. Keiji deftly caught the glass he’d knocked over, pressing his lips into a thin line. The past few nights of little sleep were catching up with him, and the prospect of returning home to his father made his stomach turn. Hiroshi had never been happy about Keiji’s job, bartending in a high end host club. Kuroo had gotten him the job initially, but when Keiji proved to be exceptionally bad at handling both strangers demanding flattery and alcohol at the same time, management elected to offer him a different position. He was “too pretty” to give up, apparently. Keiji arranged a row of vibrant shot glasses on a tray, sliding it over to the waiting host with his subdued nod. The club was busier than usual tonight, booths full of women in curls and heels, their young hosts showering them with smiles, compliments and drinks. Music thrummed through it all, but Keiji could only hear the bass through the noise. A migraine was forming at the base of his skull, and he forced himself to pull back his shoulders and smile when an older man in a pin striped suit approached him.

“Goro-san,” Keiji said, inclining his head to his supervisor.

“Ah, Akaashi-kun. There’s a young lady here, she’s asking for you, I think.”

Keiji’s brows came together. “Sir?”

“She doesn’t speak any Japanese, I’m afraid. You’re good at English, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, good. Hachiro can help man the bar for a while.”

Unease blossomed painfully in Keiji’s chest. “Sir, I can’t.” Not with Hiroshi waiting at home. Not while Tsukishima was where he desperately wanted to be, going along with Keiji’s cruel charade.

“Akaashi-kun, you have to. She’s up front. The blonde one.” Goro patted him on the shouldered sympathetically. Keiji did his best not to look as anxious as he felt, heart hammering against the hollows of his throat.

Keiji ran his hand over his face briefly, taking a shaky breath before putting on a neutral expression and stepping out from behind the bar.

Just as Goro had said, there was a blonde girl waiting beside the door, looking bored. Her dress cut a V to nearly her belly button, black mesh offering only the illusion of modesty.

“Hello. I hear you are looking for me?” Keiji asked, taking care to pronounce each word as clearly as he could.

She looked at him, her eyes green, intense and ringed with smudged eyeliner. “You really are as pretty as a picture.”

He paused “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we have met before.” 

“We haven’t,” she said, voice turning into a purr. “Not yet. Olivia.”

Keiji bowed. “Pleasure. What can I do for you?”

Olivia smiled sharply. “A table please, Keiji. I hear you’re quite charming.”

A shiver went up Keiji’s spine like a bolt of lightning. Only his father called him by his first name. He nodded and offered her his arm. Giggling to herself, she took it, fingers massaging his bicep.

He managed to find a booth, tucked between a hallway and a larger booth. She slid in easily, like she’d done this a hundred times, like she made a home for herself out of the Tokyo nightlife.

“Can I get you a drink, Miss Olivia?” 

Sweeping her long hair away from the pale swath of her throat, she purred, “Champagne, Keiji. To celebrate.”

He nodded a bow to her and weaved his way through to the bar, reminding himself to breathe.

“It’s a weird night, isn’t it, Akaashi?” Hachiro chuckled shakily, squinting at a bottle label. “We’re both doing each other’s jobs.”

“Champagne, please.” He pressed his palms flat on the cool bar top.

“You’re shaking,” Hachiro observed, concern flitting across his face.

Keiji elected to say nothing as Hachiro reached behind the bar. His hand wavered hesitantly between dark bottles. “The champagne is on the left.”

“R-right.”

Keiji looked back over his shoulder at Olivia, leaning on the table and smiling to herself.

He wondered what Tsukishima was doing right now.

He leaned over the counter and collected two champagne flutes and received the bottle of champagne with a thanks.

“May I?” Olivia asked, hands out. “I love popping the cork.”

“Only if you allow me to pour your drink,” Keiji said, placing it in her hands, sliding into the seat next to her and placing the glasses before them on the table. “What are we celebrating?”

The cork shot clear of their table, and Keiji poured the pale, bubbly liquor. Olivia raised hers, free hand resting on Keiji’s exposed forearm, her green eyes glowed in the low light.

“The ignorance of our fathers.”

 

 

Bokuto’s raucous ‘yahoo’s and ‘hey, hey, hey’s echoed, blooming into something aliens could probably hear from space. Kei hoped they’d come and abduct him.

Kuroo put his hands on his hips, chin raised, brows arched. “Have you forgotten everything I taught you?” he said, “Tsk, tsk, Tsukki.”

Kei glared at his bleary outline, glasses pushed into his hair as he gingerly pinched the bridge of his nose. Blood dripped off his chin.

“I’m leaving,” he snapped, turning on his heel and starting towards his pile of stuff.

“Wait, wait, you’re dripping blood all over! Tsukki, stop!” Kuroo’s voice was cracking with suppressed laughter.

Kei halted as Bokuto skidded in front of him and pressed a wad of tissue paper into his hand. “Dude, are you okay?”

“Peachy.” Kei pressed the gauze against his face.

“Did you see that spike though?” he crowed.

Kei shoved past him. “I’m leaving.”

“What? Why?”

A lesser person might have burst into flames under Kei’s glare. If he were any less of an idiot, Bokuto would at least have the sense to stop asking, trotting after the blond and bobbing anxiously as he sat against the wall and yanked the knots out of his shoe laces.

“At least wait until it stops,” Kuroo admonished, hands on his hips.

The good sense of it was infuriating.

“Tsukki, I’m sorry. I swear I wasn’t aiming for your face,” Bokuto said, deflating as he realized that his spike had not, in fact, been that awesome to all concerned parties.

Kei could see the spiral starting, his owlish friend descending into one of his famous mood swings, and he could only wish that Akaashi was here. He wished Akaashi was here to calm him down and balance Bokuto and complement Kuroo’s sarcasm with his dry humour.

“Bo, why don’t you go look for some ice? There should be one of those breakable packs in coach’s first aid kit.” Kuroo patted his shoulder, nodding towards the office on the other side of the gym.

He nodded, dashing off.

“Still bleeding?” Kuroo asked.

“What do you think?” Kei snapped, voice thick.

“Lean forward.” He grasped his shoulders, pulling him forward. “Sorry about your face.”

He grunted in response, bowing his face towards his knees. “Fuck off.”

Kuroo patted his shoulder sympathetically. “I don’t think it’s broken.”

Ah, right. His nose. Broken or not. He hadn’t even bothered to ask himself that question yet. Blood seeped through the tissue, staining the tape on his fingers and gruesomely bloodying his hand.

“Are you okay, Tsukishima?” Kuroo’s voice was even, calm. A captain assessing damage. “Do you feel dizzy or nauseated?”

He shook his head. “I think it’s stopping,” Kei said, adjusting the bloody wad of tissues.

Bokuto returned with a large red canvas bag, a white plastic rectangle in his other hand. He thrust the ice pack towards Kei, who accepted it with a muttered thanks.

“Tsukki, do you need anything before we clean up?” Kuroo asked.

“Phone.” He gestured vaguely to his bag. Kuroo dug it out for him.

As the other two started taking the net down, Kei adjusted the ice pack and opened his notifications.

There was nothing from Akaashi. Not a whisper or a word. His throat felt like it was full of acid.

He tapped out a quick text to his brother.

Kuroo, arms full of net, raised his brows in a question.

“My brother is coming to give me a ride,” Kei said, checking the tissue for fresh blood.

“It’s stopped now?”

“Still hurts like hell.”

A faint “Sorry!” echoed from the equipment room, as Bokuto put away the rest of the net.

“How long will your brother take?” Kuroo asked, sitting next to him and untying his laces.

Kei shrugged.

“We can wait until he gets here,” Kuroo said. He cupped his hand around his mouth and yelled, “We’re gonna wait for Tsukki’s brother to come get him, Bo!”

An affirmative yell came back to them.

Kei grimaced. “Go home,” he complained.

“That wouldn’t be very responsible, Tsukki.” Kuroo yanked a clean t-shirt out of his bag and stripped off the sweaty one. Kei glared at his half-naked friend.

A loud whistle echoed across the gym. “Tsukki, throw money at him!” Bokuto laughed, jogging back over to them while Kei scoffed in disgust.

“Tsukki doesn’t have enough money for this,” Kuroo purred, flexing dramatically.

Kei stood up and pressed the ice pack against Kuroo’s bare back, right between his shoulder blades. The latter yelped and leapt away. “Go home or get a room.”

Bokuto laughed, the sound ricocheting through the gym, while Kuroo pulled his shirt on over his head. It was an old Nekoma shirt, red and black.

“Fuck off,” Kei grumbled.

“We’re staying until he gets here. It’s Bokuto’s fault anyways.”

“I didn’t mean to!” Bokuto whined. “It was an accident. You know it was an accident, right Tsukki?”

Kei pretended to contemplate. “As I recall, you did once want total dominance over me and therefore Ushiwaka, right? Seems like a solid motivation to me.”

Betrayal coloured Bokuto’s face. “That was years ago! You don’t even play volleyball anymore!”

It devolved into a game of teasing Bokuto between Kei and Kuroo until there was a knock at the gym door and Akiteru poked his head in.

“Jesus, Kei, were you _trying_ to block it with your face?”

Kyousuke leaned in past him. “If so, you did a damn good job,” she whistled, grinning.

Kei glared at them, standing up and throwing his stuff into his bag. “I’ll bring this back tomorrow,” he said, waving the ice pack at his two friends.

“Bring it back next time,” Kuroo said, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Whatever,” Kei grumbled. “I’m going home.”

Akiteru put his arm around his brothers shoulders as he reached them, patting his shoulder and earning a glare.

“Bye Tsukki!” Bokuto called.

Kei raised a hand over his shoulder.

 

Keiji stifled a yawn, waiting for the pedestrian crossing light to change. Rain pattered noisily on his umbrella and his knee ached wickedly. In truth, everything ached. Olivia had kept him the rest of the night, even so much as demanded he dance with her.

Keiji didn’t dance. Not because he didn’t know how, but because he found nothing stimulating about it. There was nothing to it. No challenge, no calculations, no objective. He wasn’t even dancing with someone he liked. For one night, though, this was his job - make the girl happy.

She’d settled her tab happily and left a sizeable tip at 3 a.m. Keiji had gone straight home, tipsy and exhausted and out of patience.

Much to his dismay, Keiji’d been drafted into lunch with his father and colleagues at noon.

The light changed, and he crossed.

He wondered what Tsukishima was doing right now. He wondered if he missed Keiji as bad as Keiji missed Tsukishima. Selfishly, he hoped so.

He checked his phone.

_No new messages._

Anxiety fluttering in his chest, he closed his umbrella and ducked into the restaurant. Checking his watch, he realized that he’d somehow ended up five minutes behind schedule. Hiroshi raised a hand from across the room. Keiji nodded minutely, taking a moment to set his umbrella in the courtesy stand by the door to compose his features. It was a more difficult task than usual.

He slid into the seat beside his father as told, with a questioning glance at the empty chairs.

“They are running behind,” Hiroshi said impatiently, glancing at his watch. He had always been a man to praise punctuality a virtue and tardiness an egregious social faux pas. This must be the same person who was causing Hiroshi’s irritation at the airport a few days ago.

“Can I ask who it is we’re meeting?” Keiji asked carefully.

“An American telecommunications representative,” Hiroshi said. “And his daughter.”

Keiji frowned. It didn’t make any sense that he’d be making meetings with his American colleagues in Japan when he lived in the USA the majority of the time. The pieces started to fall into place. He pressed his lips into a thin line.

“I know what you’re thinking, Keiji,” Hiroshi said quietly, and it was equal parts irritation and exasperation.

Keiji grit his teeth. That his father had been brought here as a glorified tour guide to the man who took over his position? That he’d decided to pawn the daughter off on Keiji? Of course, Keiji’d guessed it by now. He’d been dragged in to this, and dragging is hard on the skin. “Please do not pretend to,” he said harshly. He could feel his father’s glower without looking at him.

“Ah,” Hiroshi said suddenly. “Finally.”

Keiji’s stomach plummeted.

A tall, bespectacled man with dark but dramatically thinning hair raised his hand in greeting, wearing a weary smile. His daughter observed the restaurant with a mild expression. Hiroshi stood to greet them and Keiji followed suit, wincing.

“I’m so sorry for being late, Hiroshi. The addresses here are very confusing.” The man shook his hand, clasping it between both his own. He turned to Keiji. “You must be Hiroshi’s son. My name is Patrick Hamer.” He extended a hand, which Keiji contemplated coldly before bowing. A muscle jumped in Hiroshi’s jaw. The American receded his hand hesitantly. “Anyways. This,” he continued, gesturing to their other guest, who smiled impishly, “is my daughter, Olivia.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they had good intentions, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (guillotine - jon bellion)

“Dude, you look tired.”

Keiji jumped, a single start, as Bokuto leaned over his shoulder to look at his book. His comical hair was down today, swept aside in a strangely respectable style. It was disconcerting.

The sounds of the coffee shop came back to him, though he couldn’t remember at which point they’d become inaudible. The light chatter, easy listening humming through unseen speakers, grinding of coffee. 

Bokuto poked his face curiously when Keiji didn’t respond. Keiji, with a flash of irritation, swatted his hand away. 

Pouting, Bokuto turned to look over his shoulder and called, “Oi Kuroo, bring another coffee for Akaashi!”

“But I already paid!” came the distant reply. 

Bokuto stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry. 

Keiji exhaled roughly, shoulders slumping. 

“Seriously, though,” he said, leaning over to look directly at Keiji. His amber eyes were the intersection of concern and intensity. Keiji leaned back.

“I’m okay.” There was stiffness in his voice, as though it hadn’t been stretched out recently.

Bokuto raised an eyebrow, gaze rising to Kuroo as he set a paper cup in front of him. Steam curled off the coffee in a calm way that ignited a spark of fury in Keiji’s stomach. 

Kuroo and Bokuto exchanged a look behind Akaashi’s shoulders. 

“It still really gets to you, doesn’t it? Your dad,” Kuroo said nonchalantly, falling into the chair next to him with obscene grace. 

Keiji raised the coffee to his lips, clicking his tongue in an irritated "tch."

Kuroo gave a low whistle. The knees of his black jeans were torn, and he flattened the loose threads with the palm of his hand. “More than usual.”

“How so?” Keiji asked skeptically, raising his brows. He curled his hands around the coffee, forearms pressing into the open pages of his text book. 

“For starters, you've barely slept all week.”

Keiji scowled. “I don’t know what you mean, Kuroo-san.”

“That book is upside down,” Bokuto added, drumming his fingers on the edge of the cover. 

He scowled harder, releasing his coffee so quickly its contents sloshed violently. Righting the text, he resumed his posture as if nothing had happened.

“For another, you’re angry.” Kuroo took a leisurely sip of his coffee. “Unusually so.”

Keiji glowered at him. The cafe was proving to be less of a reprieve than he wanted.

“And lastly,” Bokuto interjected, “you haven’t called or texted either of us since Sunday.”

“I talked to you on the phone yesterday, Bokuto-san.”

“Yeah, but I called you, remember?” 

He did. Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to take out my agitation on you.” 

Both just smiled at him, accepting his apology. Neither needed to ask why the presence of his father stressed him out so much. They’d had, unfortunately, front row seats to the fallout that destroyed Keiji's relationship with his father. 

“What you need, my friend,” Kuroo said slyly, clapping his arm around Keiji’s shoulders, “is a night out.” 

Bokuto drummed his hands on the table suddenly. “Karaoke! Karaoke!”

While Bokuto corralled and bullied Keiji into agreeing to karaoke, Keiji turned towards Kuroo imploringly. “Kuroo-san, please, my father-“

“Your father will survive one night without you,” he said flippantly, waving a hand. "We'll go after class."

Keiji scowled. 

“It’ll be fun,” Kuroo assured him, clapping him on the back. “You need to de-stress.” 

Bokuto nodded furiously. 

Sighing and closing his book, Keiji agreed.

 

Kei scowled and pushed yet another wedding magazine away from himself. They spilled all over his and Akiteru’s table, glossy pages opened to white dresses and floral arrangements and garden arches.

“Tell me again why you want my help,” he said grumpily. 

“These are nice,” Yamaguchi said, as though he had not heard Kei’s complaint. He held open the open magazine to the third occupant of the table, Kyousuke Yuki.

“Ooh, you’re right!” She took the magazine and placed it on top of her own pile. 

Kei huffed and stood up to leave.

“Kei, where are you going?”

“It wasn’t like I was providing useful input,” he said defensively. 

“C’mon, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi said, “Here, what do you think of these?” He retrieved the spread he’d shown Kyousuke and presented it to him. 

The flower, a conical fire-coloured thing, was exactly the kind of thing that Yamaguchi would pick. “Pretty.”

Yamaguchi brightened. “Right?”

“Perfect for a celebration of friendship. ” 

“ … Oh.”

“See? That was super helpful,” Kyousuke said, waving her hand towards him, as though she could indicate him to himself. 

“You both have access to google. Try peony.” 

Yamaguchi dutifully pulled out his phone to begin googling flowers. 

Rolling his eyes, Kei excused himself before either of them could stop him. Damn Akiteru, working when there was a wedding to plan and his future-sister-in-law demanded it be a social event. 

Retreating to his room, he kicked off his slippers and flopped into his bed. It felt like ages since he’d shared a bed with Akaashi, since Akaashi had gently coaxed him off the couch when he’d fallen asleep after the movie, since they’d woken up tangled together. Kei swore into his sheets, knotting his fingers behind his neck. 

Akaashi hadn’t even called him since Sunday. 

His vibrating phone startled him out of sleep hours later. Grumbling about the late hour, he lumbered off the bed and scooped it up. The display said it was Akaashi and he let out a breath of relief. 

“Hey Aka-“

“Yo Tsukki.” The voice interrupting him definitely did not belong to Akaashi.

“I’m hanging up, Kuroo-san,” he growled.

“Wait! Tsukki, don’t hang up!” Behind Kuroo, Kei could hear obnoxious singing of some kind - it sounded like Bokuto. 

“You have 10 seconds.”

“Come get Akaashi. Please.”

Kei paused, heart in his throat. “Why?” Had Akaashi told them? Was he hurt? 

“He’s, uh, well. So here’s the thing. His old man’s in town, right? And he’s been stressed out and snappy and generally a giant pain in the ass, so Bokuto and I harassed him into coming to karaoke and-“

“You got him piss drunk, didn’t you?” Kei hissed, running his hand over his face. 

“We didn’t mean to! He agreed to one drink, and I just kind of kept it full when Akaashi wasn’t paying attention - I swear, it wasn’t that much, but Bokuto had the same idea.”

“Kuroo, I swear to God-“

“He’s not really good at restraint.” In the background, he could hear a loud and slurred conversation of some kind going on, punctuated with Bokuto’s signature “hey! Hey! Hey!”

“And why do I need to come get him? Can’t you take him home?” 

He could nearly hear Kuroo wince through the phone. “That’s the thing. That’s where Hiroshi is.”

“You really thought this through, Kuroo, great job.” 

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.” His voice had gone pleading. “Please. He misses you anyways. Won’t shut up about you, actually. It’s annoying.” 

“He’s … what?” Oh no.

“He’s not making a lot of sense any more but something about how he missed running with you and something about dinosaurs and then that he’d been a bad friend because he cut you off all week.”

Kei sighed, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “You owe me.”

“One day, I’ll come pick you up off the bathroom floor, I promise.”

“Ugh. Where are you?” 

“I’ll text you the address.”

“And what exactly am I supposed to do with him? Why can’t he stay at yours?”

“You think Akaashi won’t kill me when he wakes up tomorrow?” Kei could hear the distress now. “Take him back to yours and put him to bed, he’ll sleep it off.” 

“I can’t believe you two would be so damn irresponsible to let-“

“Just please come get him, Tsukki.”

“Fine. I’m on my way.” He hung up, swallowing his sudden anger. 

 

Kei rocked back on his heels outside the karaoke club, watching traffic wheel by. This felt like some bad rerun of the night he’d picked up Akaashi after work. It had been less than a week ago, but it felt like years had gone by. The night air felt pedestrian, and only his concern for Akaashi kept his eyes from falling shut. 

The doors burst open, pouring three staggering young men onto the pavement. Or rather, two staggering young men, and the third stuck between them, his black hair standing up wildly. 

“Tsukki!” Kuroo called, raising a hand. Kei could see now that he was holding Akaashi up on one side and being held by Bokuto on the other. “Thank god.” 

“Holy shit,” Kei said, crossing the distance between them. Akaashi was tight-lipped, eyes narrowed in concentration as he did his best to hold himself upright, but his fist full of Kuroo’s shirt was white-knuckled. Seeing Kei, his expression opened up for a moment before he remembered that he was trying to look sober. 

“I was worried you wouldn’t actually show up,” Kuroo said, a little breathlessly. 

“I said I’d come, didn’t I?” Kei huffed, hesitating about the last couple of feet between himself and his drunk boyfriend. 

Akaashi didn’t reach for him right away. Surely, though, he did eventually, his free hand catching Kei’s elbow.

“Are you okay getting him home?” 

“Father will kill me,” Akaashi said abruptly, swaying on his feet as he released Kuroo and leaned into Kei’s shoulder. “It’s Thursday.” His breath hitched. 

Kei resisted the desire to put him arm around his shoulders. “He means my home.” 

Akaashi’s brows scrunched together in consideration. “Oh.” 

“We’ll be fine. C’mon, Akaashi.” Kei turned his attention to Akaashi as Kuroo coaxed Bokuto towards the station in the other direction. “Do you think you can walk alright?”

He nodded stiffly. 

Kei started to turn, pulling Akaashi along and Akaashi promptly lost his balance. The blonde caught him easily. He could barely stand, let alone walk. 

What a mess. 

Akaashi slipped his arms around Kei’s waist, pressing his face into the hollow of his throat with a shaky breath. 

“Are you okay?” Kei asked softly. 

Shaking his head, Akaashi gasped, “I’m drunk, those bastards, I can’t believe they’d-“ He stopped and just shook his head again. “Father will kill me.”

Kei rubbed his shoulders, sighing softly. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?” 

He nodded, and stumbling, they walked back through the quiet Tokyo streets to the apartment Kei shared with his brother.

 

While Kei dug through his pocket for his keys, Akaashi rubbed a hand over his face, as if it would erase his insobriety. 

“Your brother is home.”

“His fiancee too.”

“I can’t.”

“You’ve met them both before.”

“But-“

“My family or yours, Akaashi?” 

“Father will kill me.”

“Akiteru it is then.” Kei pushed open the door. It was blissfully quiet and dark. He helped Akaashi through, sitting him on the edge of the genkan before closing and locking the door. Akaashi fumbled with his shoes laces, fingers made clumsy by alcohol. Kei crouched down and deftly undid them for him, setting his shoes next to his own and helping Akaashi to his feet. 

They crossed the hallway as quietly as they could and Kei let them into his bedroom. He coaxed Akaashi into sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Thank you, Tsukishima,” Akaashi murmured. 

“Stay here. I’m going to get you some water.” Kei hesitated at the doorway, looking at Akaashi slumped down at the edge of the bed, passive expression replaced with faint irritation and colour high in his cheeks. 

Akaashi hated being drunk like this, Kei knew. Maybe they hadn’t meant any harm, but that sort of state sure seemed like harm to Kei. 

When he returned to the bedroom with a glass of water, Akaashi was lying prone on the edge of the mattress, a hand pressed over his mouth. 

“Do you feel ill?” Kei asked quietly. Akaashi nodded, and Kei set the glass of water aside, placing his nearly empty paper bin next to Akaashi.

“Sit up, Akaashi. If you throw up like that, you’ll choke,” Kei said softly, pulling Akaashi up by the shoulders. The older bowed over his knees, fingers knotted behind his neck. 

The quiet stretched out between them while Akaashi stayed bent over, breath ragged with nausea, and Kei rubbed soothing circles on his back. Gravity pressed heavy on Kei’s eyelids. 

“I’m tired,” Akaashi muttered, and Kei started. He was starting to think his companion had fallen asleep like that. 

“Then go to sleep.” Kei ran his fingers though his dark tresses, from the nape of his pale neck to the crown his head. 

Akaashi sat up slowly, rubbing his hands over his face. Each blink was slow. Kei pressed the glass of water into his hand, raising his eyebrows and leading the glass to his lips. Akaashi obediently drank it. 

Kei’s bed was only a single and he rarely shared it. He thought about camping out in the living room, or dragging in the spare futon, but he didn’t want to. This was not Yamaguchi or his brother. This was Akaashi. He crawled into bed next to Akaashi, bundling them together into the small space. The older gathered the folds of Kei’s shirt in his fists, pressing his face into the fabric. His grip relaxed after a few minutes, and Kei could feel his breath even out through his shirt. Smoothing his dark hair away from his face, Kei looked at Akaashi. 

Sleepless nights gathered like storm clouds under his eyes and even in his sleep, his brows pulled together formed a small pucker. Kei pressed the pad of his thumb against the crease. 

“Rough night, huh?”

Kei started, jerking upright. Akaashi stirred, mumbling something incoherently. 

“Akiteru,” he hissed, launching out of bed and crossing the room to the cracked doorframe and stepping out into the hall. “What the hell?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Akiteru’s blonde hair stuck up wildly. He was wearing pyjama pants. He must have been sleeping on the couch. “Where were you? I was worried.” 

Kei scowled, bristling.

“Who is that?” Akiteru asked, nodding his chin towards the door and pinning Kei with a look. His voice had gotten chilly. 

“A friend.”

“Care to tell me what happened?”

“His friends got him drunk.”

“And he’s here because …?”

Kei’s lie stuttered under his exhaustion and his frustration. Sometimes, Kei revelled in the secret that was their relationship. It was his sanctuary, a private treasure that he did not have to share or explain. It was quiet and he was safe within the spaces they shared. But he wanted more than affections given within secreted times and places. He wanted those safe spaces to be wherever they were, not just where no one else could witness them. 

“Because he needs to be, okay? Because he can’t go home like this, and I wasn’t going to make him go where he’s not safe,” Kei snapped. 

Understanding passed over Akiteru’s face, brows lifting and lips parting. “That’s Akaashi, isn’t it?”

“You- what?” 

“Akaashi. The boy you like.” 

Kei could feel himself turning red. “So? What’s that got to do with anything?” he demanded, glaring. His heart slammed in his chest like it was trying to escape. Kei had never meant for it to be a secret, he told himself. Just because he'd never confessed didn't mean it was a secret. 

“Everything.” 

“I’m going back to bed.”

“Kei, wait-“ Akiteru caught his elbow, but he yanked back. “Kei!”

“What?”

“Leave me a note next time you go flying out of the house on your white horse.” 

Kei exhaled shakily, yanking his arm free and closing the door between them. He looked at Akaashi, asleep and exhausted, his secret, and prayed that Akiteru not misunderstand. Don’t imagine this as a fairy tale. Don’t think of us as knights and princes and happy endings. 

His beautiful, cool, collected prince was riddled with anxiety and mixed priorities. Their relationship was surrounded by coals threatening to turn to flames and burn them at all times. Kei's jealousy was louder than his trust, and coming to terms with his feelings was an exercise in morse code. 

“It’s a mess, isn’t it,” he muttered, shaking his head and crawling into bed beside Akaashi. 

Hours later, he finally dozed off, nose to bruised nose, their fingers interlaced as though for dear life.

 

Keiji had the worst headache. He wasn’t sure if it was the hangover or the guilt or the anger that made it the worst, but it didn’t change the fact that it was. Tsukishima dozed beside him and Keiji noticed immediately the discolouration on his nose. Bokuto had mentioned something about a bad block yesterday, but Keiji hadn’t been paying a lot of attention. 

He understood now. 

The bruising was fading already, faint brown and purple straddling the bridge of his nose - he could probably hide most of it under his glasses. How had he not noticed sooner? 

Gingerly, he laid his hand on Tsukishima’s face, his thumb skirting the bruising. Tsukishima opened his eyes, golden gaze bright and awake. 

“I’m sorry,” Keiji whispered, voice raspy and sore. “For everything. I’m sorry.”

“Shut up, Akaashi.” Tsukishima pulled Keiji’s hand off, interlacing their fingers. “This isn’t your fault.” 

“That bruise-“

“He’s an idiot, but Bokuto-san didn’t mean any harm.”

“And we are-“

“In my house.”

Keiji groaned, closing his eyes. “I messed up.”

Tsukishima frowned and sat up. “Akaashi.”

He opened his eyes and they stared at each other. Keiji gave out first, mouth crumpling. “I hate this. I hate it.”

“That’s my line,” Tsukishima said dryly. 

“You don’t understand,” he rasped, jaw tight with desperation. “It wasn’t supposed to be this complicated.”

“Help me understand. I’m sure I can keep up,” Tsukishima said coolly. He laid beside him again.

Keiji was quiet for a long moment, trying to lay everything out in a way he could stand to admit to. “There was this American girl at work on Tuesday. She asked for me specifically. There was nothing I could do.” He stopped, swallowing hard. Tsukishima waited. “The next morning, my father dragged me to lunch with his colleague, so he could pawn the daughter off on me and it's the same girl.” Keiji choked on a laugh. “I think he's trying to find me a wife, Tsukishima."

Tsukishima slid his fingers into his hair and leaned in to kiss him, muttering, “Too fucking bad for him, isn’t it?” 

Keiji responded desperately, kissing him hard and insistent, unable to come up with the words required to tell the truth any better than this. He crushed Tsukishima against him, turning the margin of space between them into a seam. 

He did not notice the taste of salt until Tsukishima was stroking moisture off his cheek with his thumb. 

"Akaashi," he breathed, wide-eyed.

"A-ah," Keiji muttered, rubbing his eyes. He hadn't cried in years. He'd sworn it off, built walls around every well or spring that might leak. Yet here he was, tears blurring Tsukishima’s bruise into a long shadow. 

"Akaashi," Tsukishima whispered again. "It's okay."

God, he couldn't seem to make it stop now. How badly was he scaring Tsukishima? Stop, stop, stop, Keiji begged, please just stop. How could he let me hurt him like this? He felt like his chest was caving in on him.

"Akaashi, look at me." Tsukishima clasped his face between his hands, brows drawn. "You need to breathe. Okay? Breathe." 

Keiji took a shuddering breath into his pained chest, and exhale shakily. "Tsu-"

"I'm not going anywhere." He smoothed his hair out of his face, hands steady. "Breathe."

His ragged breath eased slowly, Keiji clutching Tsukishima's hand to anchor himself. It felt like ages before he could get his lungs under control. 

"I'm okay," he rasped softly, scrubbing his eyes.

Tsukishima raised his brows skeptically.

"I feel awful, but I'm okay now," he assured him. 

"I'm going to get some water," Tsukishima said, carefully untangling himself from the bed. Keiji nodded, sitting up slowly and wincing. 

 

Kei spent ten minutes looking for the one large glass they sometimes used for flowers, since they didn't seem to own a vase of any kind, before realizing it was in the dish rack all along. Distractedly, he stuck it under the tap and nearly scalded himself as the water heated the glass. Cursing softly, he emptied and filled it with cold water. 

He'd never seen Akaashi come undone like that. They'd only been dating for seven or eight months, but they'd known each other for years more. Kei knew he was anxious - it was hard to see if you weren't paying attention, but that's the thing about falling in love. It's hard not to pay attention to everything they do. But he'd never seen him so much as lose his temper. To see him struggling to breathe because of what his father did to him was crushing. 

Akaashi thanked him quietly as he accepted the water with both hands. He looked tired, red-eyed and flushed. 

"Akaashi," Kei started, but hesitated at the edge of the mattress, fingers laced. "I want to know what happened. Between you and your dad."

"I don't-"

"-want to talk about it. I know," Kei interrupted him. "But it kills you."

Akaashi was silent, green eyes wide.

"Promise me that you'll tell me."

"Even if it's complicated?" Akaashi said quietly.

"Especially if it's complicated," Kei assured him, sitting on the edge of the bed. Their shoulders nearly touched. 

Akaashi leaned on him. "What if I say no?" he said quietly. 

"Don't think I'm above asking Kuroo-san." 

"Not much of a choice then."

Kei could hear Akiteru and Yuki making breakfast in the kitchen down the hall, their chatter and laughter echoing. Akaashi must have heard it too, because he suddenly sat up. "What time is it?" 

Kei glanced across the room at the alarm clock on his desk. "It's only seven."

Akaashi searched his pockets. "Father is going to kill me. Where is my phone?"

"Kuroo-san probably has it."

Anger flashed across Akaashi's face, lip curling momentarily. "Convenient for him." 

Maybe Kuroo had been right when he said that Akaashi would kill him in the morning. 

A light tap at the door drew their attention. Yuki poked her head in. “Do you guys want pancakes?” she asked, making no comment about Akaashi’s overnight appearance. “There’s coffee too.”

“Please,” Kei said, nodding. Akaashi said nothing, pale and still. 

Yuki just smiled, nodding, and yelling at Akiteru to put chocolate chips in her pancakes. The two boys sat in silence for a minute, neither looking at each other.

“My brother knows you’re here,” Kei said by way of explanation, standing up and patting imaginary dirt off his sweatpants. 

Akaashi nodded stiffly, climbing out of bed and pulling the blankets up, though they didn’t lay straight. 

“Tsukishima,” Akaashi started uncertainly. 

“He doesn’t know about us.” Kei tried to reel back the bark in his assurance, but knew by Akaashi’s infinitesimal flinch that he hadn’t succeeded. A flush of guilt and anger poisoned him. “Come eat. It’ll make you feel better,” he said in a softer voice, tugging at his shirt hem. “Then you can go home.” 

Akaashi knitted his fingers together, lips tight, and he nodded. His hair stuck up wildly on one side and his clothing was crinkled from sleeping in them. He didn’t seem to notice. 

Kei reached out and ran his hand through Akaashi’s hair, combing through it with his fingers. As though reminded suddenly, Akaashi pulled on the hem of his shirt to straighten it. It didn’t work. 

“Maybe I should go. Before I’m too late.” Akaashi’s voice was quiet and torn. He couldn’t seem to meet Kei’s eyes.

The blond raised his brows, leaning his weight on one foot and sighed. “Stop.”

“What?”

“Akaashi, do you ever plan on telling anyone about us? Does anyone even know about you?”

“Does anyone else need to?” he said earnestly. “You know.”

Kei rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life pretending we’re only friends.” 

Akaashi stilled, eyes wide and lips caught on the words ‘rest of my life.’ It was a like a glitch in his software, a struggle in computation. 

Blushing faintly, Kei raised his chin and said, “Cold pancakes are awful. Let’s go eat.” 

 

“You guys look like shit,” Akiteru laughed, spatula in one hand and plate of pancakes in the other. Kei and Akaashi stood in the doorway, a whole body width apart from each other, one bruised, barefoot and scowling, the other rumpled, flushed and stoic. Yuki pushed a coffee into each of their hands. Akaashi raised his brows very faintly at tiny dinosaurs printed all over his mug, looking sidelong at Kei, who sipped from his cat covered mug and ignored the question. 

The Tsukishima kitchen was not a big one - the table had been a nightmare to put in, but Akiteru had insisted on it while Kei had grumbled about unnecessary effort. He was glad for it now, but he was never going to admit that to his grinning brother, who chattered happily as he pulled plates out of the cupboard, swept up the strawberries chopped by Yuki with a peck on the cheek, and generally moved more than should be possible with double the normal occupants. 

Akaashi was quiet and composed, but Kei could see him smiling into his coffee when he didn’t think anyone was looking at him. Akiteru’s pancakes had that effect. 

“Tsukishima-“ Akaashi started and both brothers turned to him in sync. He paused before pointing at the younger.

“You can just call me Kei,” he muttered, getting up for more coffee and taking both their mugs. “Saves me from being confused with that idiot.” 

“Hey!” Akiteru complained. “This idiot made you breakfast.”

“Ah. You’re right. Thanks, idiot.” 

“Rude.” He pouted.

“Kei-kun,” Akaashi said, and he was pleased to see that he was blushing, “May I borrow your phone? I need mine back from Kuroo-san.”

Smirking, Kei leaned all his weight on one hip and raised the mugs. “Hands are full. You’ll have to get it from my pocket.” 

Akiteru and Yuki exchanged a look as Akaashi opened his mouth, reconsidered, and closed it resolutely. He stood up and crossed the tiny kitchen to where Tsukishima stood. The blond smirked down at his unflappable face, and the colour lingering in his cheeks. Kei knew he was being pretty conspicuous, particularly after Akiteru accused him of having a crush on the other. He didn’t even necessarily have a reason, but this subdued version of the boy he loved scared him. 

Akaashi relieved him of the dinosaur coffee, cool fingers brushing Kei’s, and held out his other hand for the phone. His green eyes were cool as they met Kei’s, and it turned his heart to butterflies. Guess I don’t need to worry, he thought. He handed over his phone.

“Thank you,” Akaashi said lightly. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

He quietly let himself out into the hallway, and Kei could hear his voice through the door.

Akiteru winked at him, and Kei scowled, sitting down again. He lifted his mug to his lips, and as Akaashi let himself back in, smiled to himself.


	4. ch 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shit's starting to get real/explained. also, fighting.
> 
> ALSO ALSO MY FRIEND WROTE THIS TSUKKIAKA GIFT FIC AND ITS WONDERFUL AND EVEN A BIT SEXY and y'all should read it because it is delightful >> style

It had been downright soggy the day it started. Kei’s umbrella had proven to be a weak, 100-yen umbrella that gave way to the downpour, and left him in the same unfortunate circumstances as if he had forgotten one. The bus stop offered no cover, and he’d started to freeze by the time a reprieve arrived.

“Tsukishima-kun, you’re going to catch a cold out here.”

An umbrella appeared over his head, a dry Akaashi materializing next to him just as suddenly. Kei was no more disenchanted by how beautiful Akaashi seemed than he had been then.

“Being cold and wet doesn’t actually give you a cold, Akaashi-senpai,” he said flatly.

“No, but it does give you hypothermia. Do you need to be anywhere in any kind of hurry?”

Kei shook his head. Akaashi nodded across the street. “Why don’t you come dry off at my place and wait out the rain? I live nearby.”

Kei hadn’t been able to come up with an excuse. Even if he had, he probably wouldn’t have been able to articulate it through his chattering teeth.

Akaashi unwound his scarf and handed it to him, expression bored as usual. He waited while Kei hesitated before taking it and wrapping it around his neck. It smells like him, Kei remembered thinking, and blushing at even the thought. They crossed the street together.

Akaashi’s apartment had taken him by surprise. Kei had expected … more. Not more of anything in particular, but more nonetheless. There were no photos hung or displayed anywhere, no apparent book or film collections. His coat rack was appropriately populated and all the shoes by the door were evenly paired. There was only a single coffee mug in the sink. Everything was spotless.

Kei worked the soggy knots out of his laces with cold fingers as Akaashi retrieved a towel.

“You’re soaked,” he observed as Kei shrugged off his jacket, shivering. His shirt was dark with water, sticking to him like a frosty hug. Akaashi draped the towel over Kei’s head. “Strip that off. I’ll find you a change of clothes.”

Kei had been shocked by the request, scowling at him, eyes wide with confusion.

“Hypothermia,” Akaashi said threateningly, pointing at him as he strode back across the apartment.

“Nothing you own is going to fit,” Kei called, annoyed, but peeled his wet shirt off anyways. He wrapped himself in the towel, shivering.

“We’ll see about that.” Akaashi reappeared with an armful of clothing. He held out a gray sweater with an owl printed on it. “Shirt.”

Kei traded him, scowl deepening. “This is unnecessary, Akaashi-senpai.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Akaashi said, watching Kei pull the sweater on over his head. It was only a little bit too big. Kei later found out that Bokuto had bought it because of the owl print and not bothered to check the size. “It would have been irresponsible to just let you freeze to death on the side of the road.”

“The bus was late.”

“Mm,” Akaashi mused, waving Tsukishima in from where he lingered by the door. “Here. These may not fit as well, but they’ll do.” He handed him a pair of fuzzy, plaid pants.

Kei raised an eyebrow.

Akaashi raised both in response, and Kei disappeared into the bathroom to change his pants. They were at least a few inches too short.

They hung Kei’s wet clothing in the bathroom to dry. Akaashi made tea and they sat on the couch, wrapped in the comforter from his bedroom, just talking. The movie they had agreed to never got chosen. Kei had always found Akaashi easy to talk to - he was clever and straightforward, his humour was dry, and his rare laugh bright.

Akaashi collected their empty mugs, standing. “I’ll make more,” he said as he stepped clear of the blankets tail.

Kei had noticed it immediately.

“Akaashi-senpai,” he said. “You’re limping.”

His dark-haired friend glanced down at his knee with a shadow of misery on his lips. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

“I always wondered if it was as serious as it looked,” Kei said quietly, unwavering as Akaashi turned to meet his gaze.

“What was?” His tone was even.

“I saw it afterwards, on TV,” Kei offered, knitting his fingers loosely in his lap. “That you got hurt.”

He’d seen the Nationals replay footage after he got home that day two years ago, of Akaashi’s landing turning into a fall. Of Akaashi screaming through his clenched teeth as his teammates helped carry him off the court, his face ghostly pale. Of how it made Kei feel sick to his stomach.

Akaashi sighed deeply, leaning all his weight on one hip, and looked out the window. “I blew out my knee in the worst possible way. It had been feeling off for a while, but I brushed it aside,” he said, then shook his head and looked at him. “Sometimes, it acts up when it rains. That’s all.”

Kei was silent, unsure how to sit with this new insight. After nationals that year, Kei had fallen out of contact with Akaashi. He’d been busy preparing for university, and captaining Karasuno through to Nationals. The only people he kept in touch with were the ones he needed to.

“Please don’t let it colour your perception of me too much, Tsukishima-kun. It’s an unflattering shade at best,” Akaashi said as he turned and disappeared into the kitchen.

They didn’t talk about Akaashi’s injury much after that, but it marked a more serious turn in their conversation. Kei talked about being captain in his third year of high school, and the stress and isolation of moving to Tokyo. Akaashi offered him anecdotes that revealed tiny fragments of his life in return; the trouble of picking appropriate flowers for his mother’s funeral; Bokuto accompanying him to physiotherapy during a particularly icy stretch and cheering so loudly he was asked to wait outside. Kei’s clothing dried, and the tea grew cold and the rain stopped and the hour hand made another trip around the clock. The distance between them diminished.

Akaashi kissed Kei.

It was sudden, but Kei returned the gesture eagerly, fingers finding the shape of his jaw, the hollows of his throat, Akaashi’s running through the his golden hair. Kei muttered that he’d wanted Akaashi to do this since the day they met.

He had laughed, an easy, warm sound.

Kei missed it.

 

“Kuroo-san said he’d meet me at the station - it’s not that far,” Keiji said, watching Tsukishima - Kei, he thought and it still sent a tingle down his spine - tie his shoes. “You don’t have to come with me.”

He looked up at him over the rim of his glasses. “Of course I do.”

“I won’t kill him,” he assured him. “Sure you won’t,” Tsukishima quipped, double checking that he had his phone and keys. “You have everything?”

“I’m not sure what all I had when I got here.” Keiji had a hazy recollection of stumbling through the house with Tsukishima in the dark, but as he checked his jacket pockets, he turned up his wallet and keys and nothing more.

“You two heading out already?” Akiteru asked, stepping into the hallway.

Keiji nodded. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said, bowing. The rush of aching in his skull made him wince.

“Anytime, Akaashi-kun,” he said with a smile. “It’s pretty rare that Kei goes out of his way for anyone.”

Tsukishima scowled at him. “See ya, Akiteru.”

Akiteru waved as Tsukishima ushered them out.

 

“What are you going to tell your dad?” Tsukishima asked quietly, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Keiji tried not to flinch. “I don’t know yet.” It wasn’t for lack of trying; he’d been trying to summon an excuse his father might accept, but there was nothing. Keiji had given him no indication as to where he was. Even if he’d been in the hospital, Hiroshi would expect some word. Kuroo mentioned that his phone had gone off once or twice before it died - Keiji wondered if his father was actually worried, or if he was just disappointed.

“Could you just … not go back?” Tsukishima grumbled. “Until he leaves?”

Keiji stopped. “I can’t just avoid him, Tsukishima.”

“Why not?”

“Because it would be petty.”

“It would be self-preservation,” Tsukishima argued sharply.

The traffic was starting to pick up on the street, with people starting to populate the sidewalks. They were not alone here, and Keiji could feel it on his skin, an oppressive invisible rain turning into torrents, and he didn’t feel even remotely waterproof.

“Please trust me, Tsukishima,” he said. He could feel the hypocrisy singeing him.

Tsukishima scowled. “I do. Akaashi, it’s not you I don’t trust.”

“He’s my father,” Keiji said quietly, pleading.

“That didn’t exactly stop him from breaking your heart, did it?”

He blinked, taken aback. Lips parting, he managed a weak, “Tsukishima-“

“You don’t want to tell him about us, about you, fine. Whatever.” Tsukishima inhaled deeply, picking out his words. “But he scares you, and that scares me.”

“I thought we agreed not to fight about this right now.” Keiji’s voice was barely above a breath.

Tsukishima drew his hand out of his pocket, the motion languid and deliberate and took Keiji’s hand in his long fingers, stepping closer. “It’s a safe place, you know, with them,” Tsukishima said quietly, brows furrowed. “With me.”

Keiji watched him carefully, his feelings tripping over each other, tangling. The warmth of breakfast, Tsukishima’s thigh against his under the table, his open dare, all of it the substance of his favourite version of the rest of his life.

His hands trembled. “I know. I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Tsukishima sighed, running a hand over his face. “Whatever. Let’s go get your stupid phone.”

 

Keiji glanced at the dark screen again. Kuroo loomed above him, arms raised over his head and grip loose of the overhead bar on the crowded subway. He was quiet, watching Keiji mull over his thoughts quietly. As they reached the correct station, Kuroo knocked the toes of his shoes against Keiji’s, giving him a minor startle. They got off the train.

Other early morning commuters ignored them while Keiji topped up his metro card at one of the PASSMO machines. He didn’t need to, but it bought him more time.

“Why did you call Tsukishima?” Keiji asked suddenly.

Kuroo hummed aloud to himself for a long time before he responded. “He was the only option, I guess.”

“What about-“

“Your dad? Akaashi, what sort of shit friend do you think I am?” Kuroo said, looking at him with brows drawn. “I thought you’d feel better with Tsukki.”

“… Ah.”

It hadn’t seemed so close or real when Tsukishima was with him, or even getting on the train with Kuroo, but now that he was on familiar ground, could feel the distance between here and his front door in his bones, he couldn’t steady his hands or quite fill his lungs all the way. He tried to recall Tsukishima’s voice, telling him to breathe.

Kuroo messed with his hair as he leaned against the partition beside him. “I’m sorry, you know,” he said quietly. “About last night. We never meant to do that to you.”

Keiji didn’t respond, jaw tight as he tapped a prompt on the screen twice before succeeding.

“We’re both sorry. Bo might bawl when he sees you; the first thing he did this morning was try and call you- .. Are you okay?“ Kuroo’s voice dropped as he noticed the vibration in his friends stiff shoulders, his gaze fixed on the screen.

“I’m gay,” Keiji whispered. He slapped a hand over his mouth, like he could rewind his mouth’s betrayal.

Kuroo reached past him to select the field Keiji kept missing because of his shaking. “I think I knew,” he said, and his voice quivered. “But thanks for trusting me, Akaashi.”

“Kuroo-san?”

“Christ, drop the honourifics, would ya?” He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed, pulling his metro card from the machine and pressing it into his hand. “I’m proud of you.”

Keiji grimaced, stuffing his card back into his wallet. “Don’t be. I didn’t mean to say that,” he snapped, striding past him, through the gates and towards the stairs. He couldn’t pry his fingers free of fists. What had he done?

_‘I’m not going anywhere. Breathe.’_

Kuroo caught up to him on the stairs within steps. It wasn’t hard - Keiji wasn’t moving very quickly. Kuroo didn’t mention it, hands deep in his pockets. “It’ll stay a secret as long as you want it to.”

Keiji paused. “Thanks, Kuroo.”

He blinked, before smiling.

Taking a shaky breath, Keiji stepping out into the cold rain. His knee always ached on days like these. Kuroo walked beside him as they turned familiar street corners and Keiji dug his keys out of his pocket, picking through each key on the ring with deliberate motions.

_Breathe._

“What are you going to tell him?” Kuroo asked softly.

“Absolutely nothing,” Keiji said. “Thank you for seeing me home.”

Kuroo frowned. Keiji’s tone had flatlined, compressed in ways both unfamiliar and unwelcome.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said severely.

Keiji couldn’t stomach making Kuroo leave. Nodding stiffly, he unlocked the door to the building and let them in to face his father.

 

“Tsukki?”

Kei tapped his pencil restlessly, leaning his chin into his other hand. The professor didn’t even glance at him twice as he lectured on, scrawling about organic combustion or something on the blackboard.

“Tsukki?” Yamaguchi hissed from behind his hand again, eyebrows contracted anxiously. He glanced at the board and made a quick note on his own notebook.

Akaashi hadn’t texted him all morning, not since they’d gone to the metro station to get his phone back from Kuroo.

“Tsukki!”

Not since Kei had asked him not to go back, and Akaashi had gone anyways.

Yamaguchi reached over and shook his shoulder. Kei glared at him from the corner of his eye. His freckled friend didn’t even flinch.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

“M’fine,” Kei muttered, jotting down a note half-heartedly. Whatever calm they’d had over breakfast had quickly evaporated once they left the house, burned away by the mere presence of strangers, each a burning sun. Akaashi seemed balanced, but only barely, like he was halfway along a tightrope.

“You don’t seem fine,” Yamaguchi muttered, watching his tired friend absently scrawl notes with a pen that had run out of ink almost the second he started to write.

“Drop it,” Kei snapped, grip convulsing hard enough to make the plastic groan. Was Akaashi okay? Was he able to come up with something believable enough to tell his father? He was sharp enough, but he was also hungover and stressed out.

“Not until you start acting like yourself. Here,” Yamaguchi insisted, handing him a new pen.

Kei stared at the offered pen for a long second before glancing at his mostly empty page and grumbling a thanks as he accepted it.

Chalk clattered at the front of the room. “I think that’s it for class today. Remember to hand in your lab reports tomorrow,” the professor called, waving the board eraser at them.

Over already? Kei could’ve sworn they’d just started class. He closed his notebook and stuffed it into his backpack anyways, standing quickly. “Later, Yamaguchi,” he said, raising a hand in farewell.

“Wait, Tsukki!” Yamaguchi scrambled to pack up his stuff and follow after Kei.

It was really raining outside now, streaking the windows. Kei scowled at it. He hadn’t thought to grab an umbrella when he left home and Akiteru was expecting him for something. Kei wasn’t clear on the details. Something about a suit.

“Tsukki, what is going on with you?” Yamaguchi gasped. He must have run after him.

“What are you talking about?” Kei said grumpily.

“You’re acting weird,” Yamaguchi said, fidgeting with his book bag strap. “It’s scary.”

Kei ran a hand through his hair, reminding himself that Yamaguchi was only trying to help. “It was a rough night. That’s all.”

“What happened?”

“None of your business.”

“You never came back after you left Kyousuke-san and me.”

“I went to bed and fell asleep.”

“Was looking at wedding magazines that rough?” His friend sounded wounded.

Kei looked at him, mouth open with refutations poised before he clued in to what Yamaguchi was saying. What Yamaguchi was seeing. It didn’t include another reason for him to be losing sleep, or for his heart to hurt like this. He didn’t see the life stretching in front of him, the one where he was in love, learning how to be happy with Akaashi beside him when he woke up every morning. The distance between their versions of Tsukishima Kei felt so far apart that his voice may never carry far enough to correct.

“Just drop it, Yamaguchi,” Kei sighed. He turned away to head towards the cafe downstairs, but a tug on his sweater stopped him. Yamaguchi looked at him with brows drawn, Kei’s sleeve pinched between his fingers. Kei knew the face well-enough. He wasn’t getting away so easily.

“Coffee is on me, okay? Grab us a table.” He led the way down the stairs. He’d gotten very good at navigating the students that stalled on the way down to check their phones or catch-up with friends. It took him ages to get anywhere at the start of the year, being nervous about upsetting people. People change so fast, he thought.

Kei sighed heavily, readjusting his bag strap and winding his way down the stairs.

 

The cafe was packed, bustling with students hiding from the rain. Kei leaned against the wall next to the doorframe, only barely out of the way, checking his phone.

Unable to stand it any longer, he texted Akaashi.

To: akaashi  
did you get home okay?

“Did you stop breathing, Tsukki?” Yamaguchi’s concerned voice startled Kei so bad he fumbled his phone and nearly dropped it. His sudden dizziness was evidence that he had in fact been holding his breath.

“Nowhere to sit,” he said flatly. His friend handed him a coffee; it was something with caramel in it, he could smell it. Kei sometimes forgot how kind Yamaguchi was to him.

“That’s okay. We can go to the library. A little rain won’t kill us, right?” Yamaguchi said lightly, smiling.

“Sure.” Kei’s phone remained clasped between his palm and the paper cup.

They crossed campus through the rain, sticking close to eaves and overhangs, Yamaguchi chatting lightly about their classes. Kei sipped at his drink, letting it thaw the icy block of his worry.

"It's okay if you don't wanna talk about it," Yamaguchi said quietly, suddenly, as they dropped their bags next to the desk in the quiet corner of the library. "I just want to be sure that you're okay."

Kei stared at him over his fogging glasses. "When did you get so damn considerate?" he griped, leaning his cheek into the heel of his hand.

Yamaguchi just smiled.

"It's not that important," Kei muttered, looking at the table. "Just people being stupid."

"You hate people, but it doesn't usually get under your skin," Yamaguchi said.

Kei swore to himself. "It's not really that unimportant either, I guess," he recanted.

"Did you want to talk about it?"

Kei didn't, really. Not in any constructive way, anyways. He had a hard time keeping his frustrations sealed up in the box of his chest as of late. This thing that was happening - Akaashi's father appearing and taking Akaashi's sense of self-worth with him when he left - and Kei still being the second choice smarted. They'd argued about it, to no resolution, over and over. Akaashi wouldn't acquiesce and Kei was alone in his frustrations, bound up in their secrets. Taking a deep breath and trying not to trip on the words, he said, "The guy I've been seeing needed a rescue after his friends got him too drunk last night." His fingers shivered as he raised his cup to his mouth again.

Yamaguchi, true to his nature, only raised his eyebrows and asked, "How did that even happen?"

"I'm not sure," Kei groaned. "And he kind of had a panic attack this morning when he thought we'd been found out."

"He's not out?"

"Not even remotely," Kei said.

Yamaguchi whistled quietly. “How long has it been?” he asked.

“Feels like forever sometimes.” Kei couldn’t remember the exact date, or when they’d agreed to this, but he did remember that it seemed to start on a rainy day like this one.

 

Hiroshi was standing in the kitchen when Keiji entered, loosely clutching his phone in one hand and a mug raised in the other. He looked up sharply.

“Keiji. You’re home,” he said, gaze catching on Kuroo for a moment before settling on his rumpled son.

“Hi,” Keiji managed, and his voice was smaller than he’d intended.

“Kuroo-kun, it’s always a pleasure to see you. Thank you for seeing my son safely home. If you’ll please excuse us, I need to talk to him alone.” Hiroshi sounded anything but pleased, setting his cup down hard.

“I totally understand, but before I go, I have to explain.”

Keiji shot Kuroo a look as he raised his hands like he was pleading guilty. “I borrowed Akaashi to come help me and a couple of classmates with homework, and it ran longer than expected. He’s not at fault here.”

“I see. Thank you for that. Keiji will call you later, I’m sure.” Hiroshi’s voice was so cold, they could nearly see their breath. Kuroo faltered.

“Sir, it really wasn’t-“

“Go home,” Hiroshi snapped.

“It’s okay,” Keiji muttered, glancing at him.

Kuroo scowled, turning over his options before muttering that he’d be right outside and stepping into the hallway.

Silence fell between father and son. Keiji couldn’t quite meet Hiroshi’s hard gaze, so just scowled at the floor.

“Studying,” Hiroshi hissed. “You expect me to believe that?”

“No, I don’t expect you to believe me.” No matter what I tell you.

“Of course not. How could you be so irresponsible, Keiji?”

Keiji stood silent. His head was pounding.

“Do you understand the trouble that you’re in? How disrespectful you’ve been to worry me like that?” Hiroshi stood over him, chin raised and eyes steel. “Answer me, Keiji.”

He felt hot all over, like he was standing too close to a fire. “Father-“

Hiroshi cut him off. “I don’t want an apology. I want an explanation.”

“Well, that's too bad, isn't it?,” Keiji replied sharply, glaring.

Hiroshi’s teeth clicked together audibly as he snapped his jaw shut. “What did you say?”

"I don't owe you one. I’m not a child.”

“Twenty-two is not an adult, Keiji. Do not delude yourself.”

Keiji kicked off his shoes and strode past his father to the bedroom. If he stood still much longer, he might combust into actual flames.

“I am talking to you, do not walk away from me!” Hiroshi demanded.

Keiji whipped around. “Like you’ve never walked away from me? Like you didn’t pack up and leave the country the one time I needed you? Where's the reasoning for that?” he snarled. “I don’t owe you an explanation for everything I do.”

“Keiji!” Hiroshi was yelling now.

He stormed into his room, determined to find clean clothing and his phone charger. Everything sounded distorted, dim and echoey, but Hiroshi’s raised voice was blaring.

“This is unacceptable behaviour, particularly after the way you’ve acted!”

Keiji yanked open a drawer. Jeans would be fine. He yanked open another. The dark blue sweater - the one Tsukishima liked.

“Pay attention when I am talking to you!”

“You’re yelling,” Keiji said acidly. It was far from the only time that Hiroshi and Keiji had screamed at each other. Over the last two or three years, it was more often than not a shouting match that Hiroshi won by default. Keiji had kept quiet and suffered, desperate for what, he didn’t know. But he didn’t care anymore. “When you’re prepared to be civil, then you may have my attention.”

Hiroshi was turning red in the face, hands flexing, as Keiji brushed past him to get a knee brace from the closet. He didn’t make it that far.

His father’s hands caught at his shirt, his shoulders, forcing them to face each other, green eyes blazing each.

“Let go of me,” Keiji hissed, pulling at his father’s wrists.

“I did not raise you to be an arrogant and disrespectful bastard,” Hiroshi snarled.

Keiji could see his pulse in his throat. “You weren’t the one that raised me. Let go.”

Hiroshi shook him once, twice, hard, and the room spun violently. Something in Keiji warned him that things were taking a bad turn and he needed to escape. It would be self-preservation, Tsukishima had said.

“You don’t understand anything about the real world yet, son.” Hiroshi’s voice was low and dangerous, but his grip loosened, and Keiji ripped himself free. “It will crush you and leave you to pick up the pieces.”

“Somehow, you think I don’t know that?” Keiji snapped, backing away from his father. There was more to his anger than his son not coming home the night before. He knew he needed to stop, to shut his mouth and make an escape. But he felt like he might burst for boiling and dizziness and pain. “That lesson is only new for you, Father.”

Hiroshi’s composure was gone. He advanced a step towards Keiji, and his son took two steps back.

“I’m going to leave. I’m going to stay elsewhere tonight, and please do not bother yourself with waiting for my company to the airport tomorrow," Keiji managed, hands raised in front of him like a brace. His lungs were burning, and he was starting to feel like he might pass out. "Next time you come, I insist that you find somewhere else to stay."

"This is my apartment, Keiji," Hiroshi said.

"Maybe, but I'm the only one that lives here."

Hiroshi opened his mouth to fight back when there was a knock at the door, and Kuroo’s terse voice. The two men stared at each other for a long minute before Keiji yanked a knee brace from the closet - just a tensor one - and brushed past his father. He struggled to school his expression into a passive one, his blood still burning, as he pulled open the door.

He opened his mouth and nothing came out. After a second, he cleared his throat and found his voice. “Miss Olivia. To what do I owe the occasion?” he offered. Kuroo stared at him over her shoulder, eyes wide and brows drawn.

Olivia was wearing a dark skirt, practical black boots and a emerald green earrings that brought out her eyes. She smiled placidly. “Good morning, Keiji.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I invited her,” Hiroshi said coldly from behind him. Keiji seized on the opportunity immediately.

“Of course. Kuroo, can you keep Miss Hamer company for a few moments?” he looked up at his friend with a faint nod.

Thank god for Kuroo, who perked up immediately and put on his hosting face. “I don’t think we’ve met before, miss.”

She smiled widely, laying her fingertips on her collarbone and leaning her weight on one hip. “Olivia Hamer. Pleasure,” she said, raising her chin and offering him her hand.

He caught it gently and bowed. Keiji ducked back into his room while Kuroo had her attention, pulling off his crumpled shirt and attempting to flatten his unruly hair. Mine is starting to get long too, he thought as he slid his sweater on.

Hiroshi lingered in his doorway. “We’re not done talking about this,” he growled.

Keiji raised his brows skeptically, changing shamelessly into his jeans. “Yes, we are.”

He noticed that Hiroshi’s glare hardened and caught on the white scar disappearing under the tensor. The only thing protecting him from Hiroshi’s rage was the presence of the other two, still chatting in the entrance. He couldn’t squander it. Sweeping up his school bag, he stuffed his charger in with his phone and a spare change of clothes. He could buy another toothbrush. “Please tell me when you’re heading out tomorrow,” Keiji said, bowing to his father sharply and closing the door behind him with a snap.

Olivia and Kuroo looked at him curiously. He didn’t bother smiling. “My apologies. Shall we go?”

“Let’s,” Olivia said brightly, linking arms with both boys.

 

From: akaashi  
i’m okay. thank you for worrying about me.

Kei exhaled, laying his phone face-down on the table.

“Tsukki?” Yamaguchi asked curiously.

“He says he’s okay,” Kei muttered into his hands.

Yamaguchi frowned, lowering his pen. “And?”

Kei frowned and picked his phone up again.

To: akaashi  
can I call you?

The response was almost immediate.

From: akaashi  
just a second.

It was closer to five minutes of Kei irritatedly checking his phone while Yamaguchi watched him, occasionally scribbling notes. When his phone finally went off, he was out of his seat in a split second, gesturing to Yamaguchi that he’d be a minute.

“Are you okay?” he hissed.

“Yes, I’m okay,” Akaashi said softly. He sounded tired.

“What happened?”

There was a pause, and then a very faint sigh. “Kuroo’s offered to let me stay at his place until he leaves.”

Kei exhaled roughly, running a hand over his mouth.

“We fought, that’s all. I asked him to stay somewhere else in the future.”

“ _Good_.” Kei’s voice was louder than he intended and, when he glanced around, a student passing the end of the row had paused to stare at him critically, arms full of books. He scowled at them until they left.

“I … also told Kuroo,” Akaashi said quietly. “About me.”

“You … really?”

“It was an accident,” he explained, pained. “He was trying to apologize about last night. He said he kind of already knew.”

“He says it all the time, but he’s a genuinely nice person.”

“I’m going to tell him you said that.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Kei hissed.

“He’ll be so happy.”

“He makes fun of my music. He can go fuck himself. I take it back.”

Akaashi laughed faintly. “Rude, Tsukishima.”

There was a long moment of comfortable silence. Kei could hear the faint sound of traffic sloshing past, rain pattering on an awning through the phone.

“I’m sorry, Tsukishima. I should go. Kuroo is going to start wondering where I’ve gone,” Akaashi said softly.

“Can I see you later?” Kei asked, leaning against the shelving.

“I’d like that.”

Heart tremulously warm, Kei warned, “Don’t let your phone die again.”

“I won’t. I’ll call you later.”

“You had better.”

After they hung up, Kei returned to his seat and laid his face on his open book. He didn’t even bother to remove his glasses.

Yamaguchi smiled. “Tired?”

“I don’t even know what we did in class today,” he groaned. Akaashi was okay. _We’re going to be okay._ The anxiety that had been keeping him up was gone, and now the few hours of sleep he had were not enough to make up for it.

“Aren’t you lucky I was there then?” Yamaguchi teased him, flipping through his notes.

Kei’s phone buzzed, and he raised his head to check the message. Yamaguchi watched curiously as Kei dropped his phone and buried his face in his hands, blushing all the way to his ears. He made a halfway strangled noise into the muffle of his palms. After a minute, he picked up his phone and furiously typed a response.

From: akaashi  
i love you.  
just in case you didn’t know

To: akaashi  
you jerk.  
i love you too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to everyone who's been reading and leaving kudos and comments thus far! i'm shit at replying (to ANYTHING) but i cherish each one a lot so thank you, thank you, thank you!
> 
> and though i have no idea when the hell i'll get it done and up, next chapter shall be chockablock with explanations and backstory (??)
> 
> GOOD SHIT EITHER WAY


	5. ch 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The darkest parts of Akaashi's recent past come to light, Kuroo is a total bro, and Tsukishima finally gets some answers.

"Could you be anymore excited?" Akiteru complained, sighing as Kei stifled a yawn and held out his arm for measuring. 

"Literally, no," Kei grumbled. "You only got engaged a week ago. Why are we doing this already?"

"We decided to hold the ceremony this summer,” Akiteru said brightly, stretching his legs out in front of him. The suit shop was quiet today, with the Tsukishima brothers being the main customers. 

"Huh?" Kei said, turning to stare at him critically. "That's too soon."

"I thought you might say that," he laughed, and Kei glowered at him. 

"Have you thought about who you want to bring? We're going to do it back home."

"I hate when you phrase it that way - wait, what?" 

Akiteru raised his brows. "Your plus one. We already invited Yamaguchi, so you can't pick him."

"I haven't thought about it," Kei admitted, frowning at the tailor measuring from his hip to ankle. 

"What about Akaashi-kun?" Akiteru asked innocently.

Of course Kei wanted to bring Akaashi.

Whether Akaashi wanted to come or not was another question. Carefully flippant, Kei said, "Why?"

Akiteru raised his eyebrows. “Why not? It’s not like you’ve gotten much better at making friends.” 

He scowled at him as the tailor gestured for him to trade place with Akiteru. His brother patted him on the shoulder as he slumped down in the chair next to him.

“I mean, you obviously like him a lot. What’s the harm?” he whispered, winking and taking Kei’s place with the tailor. 

Kei pretended to ignore him, fiddling with his phone. Akaashi’s text message still set off butterflies in his stomach when he thought about it. He’d received a few in the meantime - sparse updates as to what he was doing every half hour or so. Kei was looking forward to each one to curb the rising tide of his worry. From what he’d seen, Akaashi was stuck chaperoning an American girl around Tokyo. He had missed his first class (which he never did) and he wasn’t with Kuroo anymore. 

Kei’s phone buzzed, and he jumped. It was an update from Akaashi, a shot of the Imperial Palace walls.

They sometimes ran there, repeating the long loop around the grounds until they were panting and tired and needing to walk. They’d meander through the East Gardens on quiet  
mornings. Akaashi was notoriously talented at stealing kisses under loaded tree limbs when Kei didn’t expect it, wearing that rare smile he seemed to reserve for them alone. 

It ached a little that he was there without him. 

That was a lie.

It hurt like hell. 

A text followed it. 

 

From: akaashi

time is broken

 

To: akaashi

scheduled maintenance interruption, i thought

 

From: akaashi

today is at least 100 years long so far and its only 4 o’clock

 

To: akaashi

an apologetic time travel vacation for 2

 

From: akaashi

not the second I would have chosen to spend a century with

 

Kei stuck his phone back in his pocket, feeling his face warm. Damn Akaashi. He wasn’t thinking about the implications of being there without Kei - he was thinking about the times he was and the times he would be. 

“Kei, what do you think?” Akiteru asked, interrupting Kei’s train of thought. He fidgeted with the cuff of the suit jacket, as the sleeves weren’t quite the right length. It didn’t fit terribly, but the three buttons and broad cut didn’t reflect his brothers brightness.

Kei took a moment to consider. “I don’t know. Something longer, I guess,” he offered.

Akiteru glanced at himself in the mirror before turning to the tailor. “Can we try a different one?”

The man nodded, taking the jacket and disappearing into the store.

The brothers stared at each other in silence before Kei glanced down at his phone and quietly asked, “Could you invite him maybe?” 

Akiteru raised his eyebrows. “Akaashi-kun, you mean?”

“Mm,” he hummed, nodding. 

He stepped over and rustled Kei’s hair (he made quite an unhappy noise). “Sure thing, little brother.”

“Christ, do you need to be so insufferable about it?” Kei griped, trying in vain to flatten his hair again. “It doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Sure, sure,” Akiteru laughed. 

“Do you really need a new suit?” 

“I’m excited. Besides, don’t you?”

Kei did, he realized. He’d outgrown the suit he’d worn at graduation a year or two ago, and never bothered to replace it. It wasn’t as though he could even just wear hand-me-downs from his brother or father - both men were broad where Kei was tall. No wonder Akiteru had bothered him into coming to this.

“I can just rent one, can’t I?” he whined. 

“You’ll be finishing school in a couple years anyways, and you finally stopped growing. It’d be good for you to have at least something formal.”

“Weddings gifts are supposed to be for the bride and groom.” 

Akiteru waved off his objection as he pulled him to his feet and gestured to the returning tailor. He asked him with no shortage of words for a suit for Kei, something blue, maybe, while Kei fidgeted and frowned. 

He wondered briefly if Akaashi owned a suit. He must, given his line of work, but he wondered if Akaashi owned one he honestly liked, that he felt like himself in. It sometimes seemed like the only things he liked wearing were Kei’s clothes and shirts with abstract puns and graphics on them that no one but he and Bokuto seemed to understand. Maybe he preferred wearing a yukata. 

Akiteru thrust a long, wrapped suit on a hanger into his arms. “Go try it on.”

Sighing, he bushed past him to the change room. 

 

Keiji wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced a day so long as this. The headache from the morning had not yet faded, and somehow, the hazy memory of singing himself hoarse with Bokuto and Kuroo, of falling into Tsukishima when he couldn’t keep himself up seemed like another life.

This was what happened when he fought with his father, when Hiroshi really lost his temper. It felt like his life crashed around his ears, all of it some sort of illusion or lie and this was his real life. He knew it wasn’t true, that his life existed outside his father, but it always took the rug out from under him. 

“Weird day, huh,” Kuroo mused, handing Keiji a mug of cocoa and plopping down next to him. 

“Mm,” Keiji muttered, turning the handle of his mug to line up with the edge of the coffee table. Kuroo’s gaze followed all the minute actions. 

Kuroo’s tiny apartment fell quiet again. The TV murmured quietly, and if they listened closely enough, they could hear Kenma’s PSP in the other room. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but Keiji was struggling to settle. Olivia had stuck to him like a nettle for hours after appearing an unlikely saviour at his door. The toll, apparently, was a one on one tour of Tokyo sights. She finally let him go in the evening, and Kuroo had come to fetch him from the street outside his building. Tsukishima was at an evening class for another half-hour.

“Are you okay?” Kuroo asked, startling Keiji. 

Exhaling, he said truthfully, “I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry for the trouble we got you into, Akaashi. We didn’t mean to-“

“It wasn’t your fault, Kuroo. Father and I always fight. That’s just how it is.”

He frowned, leaning back to take a more thorough look at Keiji, his shoulders curling forward, the shadows under his eyes, the faint discolouration blooming around the cuff of his t-shirt, the tension in his throat. The disheveled state of thin, brittle control felt frighteningly familiar. 

“Have you eaten anything today?” he asked. 

“You don’t need to do that, Kuroo,” Keiji muttered into his mug. That batch of questions that he used to ask everyday - that he had to, or Keiji would forget - stung to be asked now. He glanced at his watch.

“I’ll take that as a no then.” Kuroo stood up, stretching his arms over his head. “Shitty omurice okay?” 

It’s not worth arguing with him over. “It’s fine.” I’ve eaten. It’s just one bad day. 

Kuroo disappeared into the kitchen, only reappearing momentarily to throw something white and plastic at him. “Catch.” 

It was an ice pack. 

“You were limping all the way up,” he said by way of explanation when Keiji frowned at him. 

“Thanks.” He pressed it against his sore knee while Kuroo returned to the kitchen, whistling. 

His phone pinged.

 

from: tsukishima

akiteru is picking me up from school

 

Unhappiness awoke from it’s homey perch in his ribcage. Trying to dampen his disappointment, he made to type back a response when another message came through.

 

from: tsukishima

it’s been a long day  
run tomorrow?  
sorry

 

To: tsukishima

dont be. tomorrow. 

 

“I’ve made such a mess,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose and leaning his elbows on the coffee table. Even though it was logical, it had been a long day, Tsukishima was still protecting his interests at both their expense, it hurt. The promise of seeing him had buoyed Akaashi throughout the day, keeping his head above metaphorical water while he was with Olivia. 

“I think you need to talk,” Kuroo interrupted his sulking, placing a plate in front of him.

“That was fast.” Keiji sat up, cross his legs and wincing. 

“It’s been nearly 30 minutes,” he said, sitting opposite him and raising his eyebrows at him. His voice dropped low and serious. “Akaashi. Talk to me.”

“I’m fine,” he said reflexively.

Kuroo pointed his chopsticks at him accusingly. “No you’re not. Know how I know? Because you won’t talk to me. And Bo said you’re not talking to him about what’s going on either.”

“I’m allowed to have secrets.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

Akaashi stared at the food in front of him, the cat face drawn carefully in ketchup, and said nothing. They sat in uncomfortable silence, Kuroo’s stare burning him. 

“It’s only a bad day,” he finally said.

“Bullshit.”

“One day-“ Keiji started, but Kuroo didn’t let him finish.

“One day out of many,” he snapped. “They all start to blur together, don’t they? Until it’s just one long, excruciating day and you can’t remember the last time you ate anything, or the last time you slept.”

Keiji recoiled, his own words stinging where returned. But he couldn’t bring himself to be angry with Kuroo over them; he felt sick with shame instead.

“It’s not like that,” he finally said. His voice was soft and miserable. 

“I know,” Kuroo sighed. “But depression is like a sprain with you. After the first time, its easier to do it again and again and it takes longer and longer to bounce back.”

Keiji couldn’t help it; he laughed a bitter, humourless bark. 

Kuroo watched him, dark eyes following every move. 

“It’s the same thing every time, isn’t it?” Keiji said, hollow laughter clattering down into a trembling murmur. “An injury I can’t heal no matter what I do; that’s the irony, isn’t it?”

Kuroo’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Akaashi-“

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.” Keiji rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t understand why I can’t tell him ‘no’ when I should.”

Kuroo didn’t understand either. At least, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to make concessions to his hatred for the man. He wanted Keiji to hate him too, to demand he make up for his failures from a world away. But he did get it. 

“Because you don’t want him to leave you again, no matter how bad it is,” he said. “Because he’s your father.”

Keiji shook his head, picking up his chopsticks. His free hand absently rubbed against the bruising on his arm, as though he could erase the sensation of fingers digging into his skin. As though he could erase the last two years with his father. 

“‘She would be an excellent wife one day, Keiji,’” he said. “He said it at least three time over the course of one very awkward lunch. And then he invited her to my apartment, claiming it was me who asked.” 

Kuroo waited for the crack to spread, carefully walking his chopsticks through his own rice and eggs. “Does anyone else know you’re gay?”

“Only the ones who need to,” Keiji said, finally breaking into the omelette on his plate. 

Kuroo paused, a frown crossing his face with comprehension hot on its heels. His chopsticks slid out of his hand. 

Keiji realized his mistake too late.

“Oh my god.”

“No, Kuroo-“

“You have a boyfriend.” He grinned, eyes wide and bright.

“I didn’t-“

“You, Akaashi Keiji, have a boyfriend!” 

“Kuroo, please-“

“Who is he? Do I know him? How did you meet him?” Kuroo’s voice had risen and Keiji cringed as he pleaded, “Kuroo, please, be quiet, I beg of you.”

“Holy shit, no wonder your dad springing a wife on you rattled you so badly!” Kuroo was far too happy, as far as Keiji was concerned. 

“I never said I had a boyfriend.”

“No, but you implied it.” 

“I absolutely did not.”

“Did too.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Am not. You have a boyfriend.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t say you didn’t though.” 

Keiji scowled, shovelling food into his mouth. 

“Ha! I’m right!” Kuroo cheered. “Akaashi, you dog.”

He nearly choked on his rice. As much as he was relieved, he knew this was spiralling out of his control. Kuroo was one of his best friends and he trusted him, but he was also deeply mischievous and far too close to Bokuto, who was far less capable of keeping a secret. 

Tsukishima’s going to be mad at me, he thought. 

“I’m not telling you anything ever again,” Keiji threatened. 

Kuroo grinned widely. “I want all the details one of these days.”

“Absolutely not,” Keiji snapped. “Don’t you have work tonight?”

He glanced at his watch, and proceeded to wolf down his food at a speed only known to athletes and speed-eaters. “In an hour,” he explained around a mouthful of rice. 

“I’ll do the dishes,” Keiji offered as Kuroo clapped his hands together and rose with his plate. 

“Thanks, Akaashi.” Kuroo winked as he darted out of the room. Keiji could hear him asking Kenma where the iron was from down the hall, and Kenma’s annoyed, but much quieter response. 

It’s amazing what gives you ground to stand on, Keiji thought to himself, listening to the two bicker. Maybe he’d made a mess with Tsukishima, with his father, with his life, but some things didn’t change. He could live with the disappointment of not seeing Tsukishima tonight - he could look forward to seeing him in the morning instead, to doing something normal. His father would go home and they would change the locks on his apartment. The week would end. 

For that moment at least, Keiji was carefully, cautiously hopeful. 

 

Overcast weather made for diffused light and cool colours in the morning as Kei watched strangers pass him on the path. Runners, couples and young families, wondering eager foreigners, each and every one not paying him more than a shred of notice. 

They’re agreed to meet where they always did, halfway between their homes, near Chiyoda. It tended to be busy early in the day, but it meant no one was paying attention to them. Kei was early, checking his watch as he leaned his weight onto one hip. He wasn’t dressed for running. He doubted Akaashi would insist on it - they needed to talk. 

As though summoned by his dwelling, he spotted Akaashi’s dark tresses down the path. He didn’t look much better than yesterday - his complexion was still pale, shadows under his eyes, but his shoulders were drawn back and he met Kei’s eyes with his own alert gaze. He nodded, adjusting course to meet him. 

As he drew close enough to see, Kei noticed the tightness of his lips and the awkward lilt of his steps that meant he was trying to hide and ignore pain in his knee. 

“Where’s your brace?” Kei asked.

Akaashi leaned on his good leg. “At home, trapped behind the dragon of my father,” he said, shooting an annoyed glare at his leg. “You’re early.”

“Is he still there?” Irritation flared. “Isn’t his flight today?”

“It’s supposed to be, yes.” Akaashi pulled out his phone, thumb gliding across the glass and frown deepening. 

“And?” Kei prompted.

“I asked him to let me know when he was heading to the airport, but I have yet to hear anything.” It was nearly palpable, Akaashi’s stress. He did this thing where he eventually recognized his anxious fidgeting and crushed all of it into a kind of stillness that bordered on performative. Kei wasn’t sure why, but it put him on high alert. 

“Is that normal?” 

“I usually take him,” he said. After a contemplative pause, Akaashi quietly added, “It’s easier to breathe when I know he’s off the ground.”

Kei wanted to reach for his hand, wanted to kiss the worry off his lips. He wanted to do it here and now, when the corners of his mouth housed so much misery. He did none of that. 

He jerked his chin towards a coffee shop across the street, quiet between the Starbucks to one side and sweets shop on the other side. Akaashi nodded and, with a whole foot between them, they joined the throng waiting for cross the street. 

The cafe wasn’t exactly quiet, but it was still far from the madness of their more popular neighbours. After Akaashi glanced up at him with an edge of panic, Kei sent him to claim a table while he ordered their drinks. They sat next to the window in quiet a couple of minutes, watching people go by outside and watching each other when the other wasn’t looking at them. 

Finally, they looked at each other, amber and emerald, and the latter smiled weakly. 

“You okay?” Kei asked. 

Akaashi’s smile came apart enough to say, “I’m sorry.” It sounded to Kei like it wasn’t what he’d meant to say. 

“For what?” he asked lightly, cleaning his glasses. Akaashi’s smile fractured apart as his gaze dropped, slid to the tabletop as though dragged down by some sudden weight. “Akaashi?” 

“I’ve kept so much from you,” he managed, trying to take a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have.”

Kei took a sip of his hot drink and calmly replied, “But you did.” This was the threshold of their usual argument, the teetering precipice that constantly threatened them. Kei wasn’t concerned about minding it anymore.

“I did,” Akaashi echoed. His hands curled around the paper cup; his dug at the seam with one nail. 

“But I get it, I think.”

Akaashi stilled for a moment. 

“You’re afraid.” Kei hated himself for saying it. “Of us.”

He bristled, looking up, dark brows drawn over his eyes. “That’s not true nor fair, Tsukishima.”

“Then why won’t you admit that we’re together to anybody?” Kei hissed back. Old frustrations seeped into his mouth. “You won’t let me tell even my brother, let alone our friends.” 

“It’s co-“

“Uncomplicate it for me. Please.” He leaned back in his chair, watching Akaashi chew on his words like he was considering which bullet to use. Finally, he laced his fingers together and could not seem to raise his eyes past his white knuckles.

“The short version is this. My mother died shortly after my injury, and my long-absent, recently reappeared father took a job on the other side of the world, and abandoned me. To compensate for the distance, he bought my apartment outright and pays my tuition, provided I study business.” Akaashi voice was clipped and cold, his shoulders tightening towards his ears as he spoke. “Over the last two years he has imposed more and more conditions in exchange for his continued support.” 

Kei couldn’t help but stare. The “short version,” as Akaashi said, vastly increased the number of questions he had, but things that he had not understood before suddenly fell into place, stringing together the sparingly given anecdotes from the last two years of Akaashi’s life. His hesitations and anxieties that he hadn’t had in high school, the way he walled in their private spaces to protect them, and how it had crushed the air from his lungs and made him weep yesterday - it all made a world more sense now. And it created a torrent of emotions he wasn’t prepared to sort out yet. Horror prevailed though, and anger. 

“Conditions?” Kei asked, trying to keep his voice in check. 

“My grade average must stay above ninety percent. I am to keep my studies within my field and not waste time with electives. I must not play or participate in volleyball in any way.” He checked them off on his fingers as went. “He should be permitted to stay when visiting the city for work. There must not be any photos of my mother around when he does. I’m only permitted to date girls from respectable families.” 

“Conditions on dating and volleyball? Seriously?” Kei asked sharply. “Why on earth would you agree to that?”

“I wanted to keep a roof over my head,” Akaashi said, shrinking under Kei’s fierce expression. “He’s not a fan of my job either, but permits it on the basis of how much he likes Kuroo.” 

“On what? That’s such bullshit, Akaashi, and you know it,” Kei exasperated. 

“What am I supposed to do, Tsukishima?” Akaashi snapped back. 

“Say no. Stand up for yourself.” He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so angry, especially with Akaashi. A small, rational voice told him it was indignation and anger on Akaashi’s behalf, and that it wasn’t true anger, but sadness that the boy he loved would let someone who hurt him so badly turn a single kindness in a sea of cruelty into another sword over his head. But a louder part of him was genuinely upset. “Or maybe start by growing a fucking spine.” 

Akaashi winced, green eyes wide. His clenched jaw gave away his anger. 

“Do Kuroo and Bokuto know about these conditions?” he demanded. 

“No,” he answered tersely. 

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this? Anything?” Kei was being loud now, Akaashi’s glances around the room told him as much, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “These aren’t small details.”

“Because I knew you’d be angry.”

“You’re right that I’m angry, but do you want to know why?” Kei was standing now. “Why I’m actually upset?”

Akaashi’s face told him that he didn’t, that he was trying to sift through their lives to find the answer, and it infuriated Kei.

“You don’t trust me. Not really. I’m so frustrated with the lying and pretending, and you never realized. You took for granted that I would go along with this secret forever, and didn’t give it a second thought.” 

“Tsukishima, you’re yelling.” Fear had broken through his thin composure. 

“Do you honestly think I’m in this just for what? For kicks? For something to do when no one’s looking?” he hissed, leaning in. Then, to Akaashi’s complete horror, he stood, swinging his arms wide and announcing, “Look! I fell in love with a spineless bastard who doesn’t trust me!” to the growing number of patrons and staff staring at their rapidly escalating argument. 

His anger had become a monster of its own, turning his skin hot. There was too much inside of him now - too many competing needs and desires, and the spark of rage created an exothermic reaction. 

Akaashi’s chair screeched as he stood. His face was beet red, jaw working, eyes shiny. He spared Kei only a glance before he stormed out. 

Kei didn’t move to follow right away. Some of the wind in his sails went with Akaashi and he replayed that momentary glance over in his mind, registering guilt and shame. Chest heaving, he cast a look around the room. Most people averted their eyes immediately, but a few continued to stare, to click their tongues and Kei leaned his head back, glaring at them down the length of his nose and demanding, “Mind your own damn business.” 

 

“Akaashi!” Tsukishima called after him. People stared at him as he jogged after the dark-haired figure storming down the sidewalk. “Akaashi, wait!”  
Keiji heard him, but didn’t turn around or acknowledge him. Pain flared angrily in his knee, but he barely felt it. He was embarrassed - deeply and utterly humiliated - but also ashamed. Had he been so negligent of Tsukishima’s feelings that they had reached the point of screaming at each other in public? 

A hand on his shoulder stopped him. He whipped around; of course it was Tsukishima. He was so much taller, so much faster than Keiji’s limping strides.  
“Akaas-“

“Let go of me,” Keiji said coldly. He could feel his face still burning. 

“Can we just-“

“I said, let go of me.” Keiji jerked out of his grip, glaring. “I don’t want to do this.”

“You never do. Has it ever occurred to you that that might be a problem?” Tsukishima said harshly.

“Like you’re so good at talking about your feelings.”

The barb landed and Tsukishima flinched, retracting his outreached hand into a fist at his side. Akaashi turned to leave, to cool his head, when Tsukishima really lost his temper. 

“I thought - I thought, maybe, at some point, this would matter enough for you to want to defend it.” He was shaking, Akaashi could see as he turned to look, and there was uncharacteristic colour in his face. “But still, you won’t choose me over anything else!”

“What are you talking about?” 

“Your father, Akaashi! Even after everything he’s done to you, you still choose him over me!” He was shouting and shaking, and Keiji couldn’t recall ever seeing so much emotion from his usually reserved boyfriend. “You go so far as to see to the suitors he picks out for you! And you expect me to be quiet and understanding and have no issues with that?” 

People were staring. 

Tsukishima was right, as he usually was. 

Not just staring, but muttering and watching. 

Keiji couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid. 

It was hard to breathe. 

“I’m sorry, Tsukishima.”

“You keep saying that, but you don’t act like it. Nothing changes.” There were tears in his voice, but he’s dry-eyed. Keiji could hardly decipher the myriad of feelings in his expression. 

Someone would surely hear of this shouting match. Someone would surely expose them to the rest of the world. All his safe, private spaces would collapse into nothingness. 

Breathe. It’s okay. Breathe.

Keiji took a step. Then another. His hand found purchase in Tsukishima’s shirt and he pulled, hard, until their faces were level. 

“I’m sorry, Kei,” he managed before kissing his angry, miserable lips, hard and insistent. 

People were really staring now. 

Breathe.

Tsukishima gave in, becoming compliant under his ministrations, hands catching at his waist. His lips parted, Keiji’s following. 

Breathe. I’m not going anywhere. 

After a couple minutes of making out on the sidewalk, Keiji whispered, “I’m dizzy, hold on,” and Tsukishima held on while Keiji tried to sort out his lungs and his weak knees. 

“Breathe,” Tsukishima said quietly. 

“I’m so sorry-“ 

His silenced him with a quick kiss. “Focus on breathing first. You’re having a panic attack.” 

“Ah, yes,” he said weakly, leaning his face into Tsukishima’s chest. He could hear his heart hammering in his chest. ‘He’s still angry,’ Keiji realized. 

Of course he is, he thought. All of his concerns were valid; Tsukishima rarely made an argument he couldn’t win. 

“Your breathing is getting better, right?” Tsukishima eventually asked. 

“Yes. I’m sorry. We can go back to arguing now,” Keiji said, forcing a smile. 

“I think we’ve both had more than enough,” Tsukishima responded, shaking his head. “Talking would be a lot less exhausting.” 

“And embarrassing. I can’t believe you, yelling at an entire cafe,” Keiji chastised. “I’ve never been more mortified in my life.”

“Hard to believe when you hang out with Bokuto and Kuroo,” Tsukishima snorted. 

Akaashi managed a measly, wobbly chuckle. “Can we leave? People are still staring at us.” 

Tsukishima nodded, interlacing their fingers together. 

 

“Is this okay?” Akaashi asked quietly as Kei flicked on light switches.

“Akiteru’s at work and Yuki-san is at home,” he said, offering his hand. Akaashi grasped it as he removed his shoes. 

“But are you okay with this?”

Kei raised his brows. “Are you?”

He released his hand, frowning. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?” 

“I suppose not. I’ll make tea. Living room is through there.” Kei gestured to the sliding door down the hall, adjacent to the kitchen. 

Akaashi nodded and followed him down the hall, splitting at doorways. 

Kei filled the kettle, dug out tea and tried to organize some of his feelings. He was still angry, of course he was. But it was a different sort of anger, rooted in the “short version.”

Akaashi had promised to tell him the long version when they got here. He’d also let Kei hold his hand on the train, from station to home, although he trembled the whole time. But when he’d told him the cold summary of what happened to him, he said nothing about what that had meant. 

The kettle started to whistle and he added it to the tea in the mugs. Akaashi was still standing, looking at a family photo on the wall, among many. Photos of festivals and trips and family gatherings, volleyball teams and graduations and anniversaries; Akiteru loved them, Kei tolerated them.

“You smiled so much,” Akaashi said. 

“Yeah, well.” He handed him a mug, looking at the pictures over his shoulder. 

“Do you see your parents much?”

“I talk to them every once in a while,” Kei said. “Aki’s better at staying in touch.”

“Aki?” Akaashi asked, glancing back at him. 

“Akiteru.”

“I’ve never heard you use pet names before.”

“Don’t tell him I said it. It’s just a stupid nickname from when we were kids. Around this age.” Reaching over, he pointed to a photo of two young boys on a swing, Akiteru stood behind him on the swing, both grinning. Kei’s glasses were enormous. “He’d never let it go.”

Akaashi smiled softly. “It’s amazing.”

“What is?”

“This,” he gestured to the whole wall of photos. “It’s amazing.” 

“It’s normal, I think,” Kei said evenly, watching Akaashi turn away from the wall and sit down. “What was your family like? Before everything.”

Akaashi sighed, rolling his mug between his palms. “Messy.” 

Kei sat next to him and waited. 

“My parents separated when I was a kid. It’s hard to remember when, exactly. They fought relentlessly over everything, over shampoo and coffee and affairs and flus.”

Kei raised his brows. No wonder Akaashi hated fighting so much. “How did they even end up married to start with?” 

Akaashi pointed at himself. “An accident.” 

“Nobody could make someone like you by accident,” Kei said before he could stop himself.

Akaashi snorted. “I beg to differ.” 

“Beg away then.” 

He shoved his shoulder. “Shut up.” 

Kei raised his tea to his lips, keeping pointedly silent. They let the joke sit for a minute, a moment for air before Akaashi told him the “long version.” 

It began with this: “Partway through my third year of high school, my mother was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer.” 

She believed quality of life beat length when you were going to die soon anyways. Kei wasn’t sure Akaashi was as forgiving of that decision as he said he was. Akaashi’s father came back into the picture to help them out as his mother got sicker and sicker. 

“For some stupid, naive reason, I thought something might be different this time,” Akaashi said bitterly. That’s because you were seventeen, Kei thought. 

By then, Akaashi was having issues with his knee; soreness and instability. But he kept it to himself, thinking it was just a minor irritation, and trained harder than before. Fukurodani was going to Nationals after all. 

And go to Nationals they did. Akaashi’s catastrophic fall happened on the third day. A complete ACL tear with collateral damage to the other structures in his knee, Akaashi told him. His father was furious with him for letting it get to this, to make himself a burden when his mother was already so sick. 

She died only a couple months later, right before Akaashi’s surgery date. His father paid for the funeral, and left, having accepted a lead position overseas. 

“He just … left?” The magnitude of horror was enough to make Kei feel sick. Both of his parents gone, almost overnight. The new arrangement of Akaashi’s nervous quirks grounded itself in old crumbling foundations. 

Akaashi nodded. It was a whole eight months before the conditions started. 

“Why did you agree with them?” 

“At first, it was small things. Going to school. Letting him stay when he visited. I thought he was trying to get me back on my feet.” He glanced at Kei out of the corner of his eye. “I thought perhaps he knew what kind of state I was in and was trying to help in his own way.” 

His skin erupted into goosebumps, uneasiness crawling through him. “What kind of state? What kind of state are we talking about?” he asked slowly, watching Akaashi’s lips thin, his jaw clenching. 

“I … Kuroo calls it a massive depressive episode,” he whispered. “I’m missing a lot of it, honestly. Keeping track of time passing was impossible. Bokuto has filled in some of the gaps, but it remains that I probably owe my life to those two.”

“Akaashi-” 

“I never wanted you to know.”

“Why?”

Akaashi looked at him. “Because you would see how fragile I was and leave.” 

Kei stared back, eyes wide. “You absolute idiot,” he breathed. He’d always seen Akaashi as clever and perceptive. How could he be so dense? “That’s why you didn’t tell me?”

A confused frown crossed Akaashi’s face. “Isn’t that what I just said?”

“No, what you just said was ridiculous. Did you seriously think I would leave over something like that?” Kei snapped. 

“Apparently,” Akaashi said forcefully, “I have trust issues.” It sounded like a reminder, rather than a painful admission. “I recognize now that I should’ve told you much earlier on.” 

“Is that the whole story?” Kei asked. Akaashi nodded.

He leaned against his shoulder. “Thank you for telling me.” 

“What do we do now?” Akaashi asked softly. There was a quaking in his voice. 

“First, what happens if your father finds out you’re dating a guy?” 

He laughed, and it wasn’t a pleasant one. “I thought it might be obvious, Tsukishima.” 

Kei recognized something in his tone, his face, from the hesitant confessions of a tipsy first-year Yamaguchi, when he’d bumbled over the words like they might damn him, and only gave them in whispers: “I had a huge crush on you in high school. I was afraid you’d hate me.” Kei didn’t understand why he’d thought that, why Yamaguchi thought Kei of all people would be bothered. He didn’t understand why Yamaguchi had seemed so relieved when Kei didn’t care all that much. 

But comprehension unfurled painfully in his stomach as Akaashi pulled the shoulder of his sweater down, and Kei could see the dark brown and green blush around his bicep, the lateral shadow of fingers. Something painful and unpleasant coiled in his abdomen. 

Seeing the horror and outrage on Kei’s face, he said, “He probably wouldn’t kill me, but he expresses his anger with his hands.” 

There were no words that Kei could come up with to express his rage and mortification. 

Akaashi shrugged his sweater back on, smoothing the wrinkles. “I’m not ready to tell everyone,” he said. “But I agree that we can’t keep on this way.” 

“But-“ Kei stopped himself. This is what Akaashi had been afraid of too. This was why he’d insisted on keeping it a secret. Knowing that, could Kei actually ask him to risk his safety? But it was also the source of his irritation and his jealousy. “Then what do we do?”

Akaashi found Kei’s hand and laced their fingers together. 

Noise from the hallway drew their attention - the door opening and closing, Akiteru thinking out loud to himself. “Kei? Are you home?” he called.

“I guess we start here,” Akaashi whispered, squeezing his hand. 

Kei met his gaze and saw the resolve warring with fear. Whatever they did next, they did together. At least we’re stupid together, Kei thought. He squeezed back and called back, “We’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, they say, since it takes me for fucking ever to write these things. 
> 
> anyhow - here we are. chapter 5. maybe more than half way done? also, please don't pay too much attention to the nitty gritty of the time line. 
> 
> thanks to atomiceyes for being my bomb beta reader ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akaashi is constantly trying to leave home, Bokuto is surprisingly insightful, and Tsukishima is mad (he thinks).

Kei clicked his tongue loudly, and not the first time since Akiteru poked his head in and immediately zoomed in on their linked fingers. 

“Stopping making that face,” he snapped. 

“What?” Akiteru complained, grinning from ear to ear.

“It’s creepy for you to be so happy about this.” Kei crinkled his nose. Akaashi glanced at him and smiled to himself at the expression.

“But it’s kind of romantic, isn’t it?” Akiteru asked. “Secret relationships and all that.” 

Akaashi and Kei exchanged a glance. They weren’t exactly romantic people to start with, and trying to find private time to be alone together was difficult. They’d actually used a love  
hotel once or twice, just to have the privacy, but it wasn’t a good long term solution for either of them.

“No, not really,” Akaashi said flatly. 

“Really?” Akiteru’s grin faltered. 

“Really,” Kei confirmed. 

He glanced between the two young men, who were no longer holding hands, but there was a shift in the way they oriented themselves to each other. Akiteru knew that his brother liked Akaashi, but it was obvious now that it went past a simple crush. “Why did you hide it then?”

Kei looked at Akaashi pointedly.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Because I asked him to,” he said. “For a number of selfish reasons.”

Kei’d been frustrated for so long about it, it was nearly automatic to clench his teeth and swallow his words. But he stopped himself. Although they were selfish reasons, Kei found he didn’t care about that part nearly as much anymore. 

“We’re not interested in telling the whole world, however,” Kei said. His glare left no room for argument. 

“Who would I even tell?” Akiteru said quickly. 

“Mom, Dad, Yuki, literally anyone who talks to you for five seconds at all during the day.” 

“… So we’re not telling Mom or Dad or Yuki?”

Kei looked at Akaashi, who was pale under his calm facade. The tremor of fear was just under the surface. “Not quite yet,” he said. 

“Eventually,” Akaashi added. “But not quite yet.” 

Kei could see the confusion on Akiteru’s face. It shouldn’t surprise me, Kei thought. It was likely that Akiteru had always known Kei was gay the same way that he knew how Kei liked strawberry shortcake only on good days - strictly because he knew him well.

“Not everyone is as happy about it as you,” Kei said quietly, and confusion gave way to unhappy understanding. Akiteru turned to Akaashi, leaning on the table.

“Okay, I don’t need to know all the details, but if you’re ever threatened or feel unsafe, you come here, okay?” he said sternly. 

Akaashi blinked, clearly thrown by this kind of response. “Thank you,” he managed. 

 

“I have to work tonight,” Keiji said quietly, watching Akiteru’s shadow pass the bedroom doorframe yet again. Tsukishima’s brother was doing his best to give them a bit of privacy, but it was abundantly clear that he was curious. “All my work clothing is still at home.”

“He’s still there?” Tsukishima hissed. They were sat on the edge of his bed, much like the night Tsukishima came to save Keiji from his friends.  
Keiji fiddled with his phone, pressing his lips together. He hadn’t heard anything from his father since their fight. There had been something off about Hiroshi, something he wasn’t saying all week, and a nasty suspicion was taking root. “Unfortunately, I don’t know.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Tsukishima asked, looking at him over the edge of his glasses.

“Find out, I suppose,” Keiji said softly. “He probably won’t be there anymore.” Unless I’m right. His suspicions nagged him from his stomach, a constant flutter of anxiety. Hiroshi had said he’d be leaving on Saturday, but Keiji wondered if that was true. When he’d asked Olivia why she was in Japan, she’d laughed and said that she was just mooching off of her father’s promotion for travel’s sake. I should’ve asked more about what that meant, he chastised himself. 

“Then I’m going with you.”

Keiji shook his head, and Tsukishima scowled at him, flopping back on his bed. “One fire at a time, right?”

“I’ll ask Bokuto to come with me,” Keiji said, watching Tsukishima glare at the ceiling, arms over his head and just a few inches of abdomen exposed. He looked, momentarily, as though he might cry. 

“I’m still mad at you, by the way,” he said, glancing at him only for a second before returning to staring at the ceiling.

“I kno-“

“Shut up for a second, Akaashi,” Tsukishima snapped. Then sighed. “You took advantage of me, you didn’t trust me, and you totally shut me out, and I’m pissed about it. We’ve fought about your dad so much lately that I feel like a third wheel.”

Keiji stayed quiet, clenching his jaw tight. 

“And I think I would have every right to break up with you about it.”

Keiji inhaled sharply despite himself, and looked away like it might make his reaction less obvious. 

“But I don’t want to,” Tsukishima continued, voice softening. “When I think about the future, I never doubt that you’re in it. You said I’m not good at talking about my feelings and you’re right, but there’s at least one thing I’m not afraid to tell you.” 

“And what’s that?” Keiji said cautiously. His heart pounded uncomfortably in his chest as Tsukishima sat up and ran his hand through Akaashi’s hair.

“That I love you, you oblivious idiot.” 

Keiji looked at him, at his liquid gold eyes and the faint curve of a smile on his lips and found himself short of breath. How could it be possible for one person to have the ability to rob another of breath so easily? And yet, there was an uncomfortable stir of guilt in his stomach. 

“If I said that I wanted this to stay between us, and for things to stay on this way, would you still feel that way?” he asked quietly, lacing his fingers together. 

A flicker of anger crossed Tsukishima’s face and he exhaled through his nose. “What do you think, Akaashi? Am I that fickle?”

Keiji shook his head. “No you’re not. I know that.” 

“Damn right.” 

He managed a chuckle. “Damn right,” he echoed. “I’m going to go call Bokuto.” Stealing a kiss as he stood, Keiji let himself out of Tsukishima’s room. Akiteru nearly collided with him in his apparent pacing. There was an awkward pause, before Keiji gave a slight bow and headed to the front door. 

Bokuto answered right away, and he was blubbering.

“Agaashi, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to get you drunk, I just-“ he wailed.

“Bokuto-san, I know. It’s okay. Please stop crying.” Ah, the usual.

“I got you in trouble! Only bad friends do that!” 

“No, you were only trying to help,” Keiji said. “I had fun, I promise.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he said firmly. “Are you free today?”

“W-we have practice later, but nothing until then.”

“Would you mind … coming to my apartment with me?”

“Like, the one where you live?”

Keiji groaned internally. “… Yes. That one.”

He could see the confusion on Bokuto’s face through the phone. “Should I ask why?”

Keiji drew a deep breath. “I fought with my father, and I don’t know if he’s still there, so I would appreciate some back-up.” 

“Okay,” Bokuto agreed. “Where should I meet you?” 

“At the station in about an hour?” They agreed to meet, and signed off. 

Keiji stared at the screen of his phone for a long time, wondering if his fleeting bravado could get him through just phoning, or even texting, his father. But thinking through the possibilities incited such anxiety that he put the phone back in his phone and stepped back inside. 

 

Bokuto rocked back and forth on his feet while Akaashi fiddled with his keys before eventually passing them to him with shaking hands. 

Raising his brows, he took them and unlocked the door as Akaashi sucked in a breath. They pushed open the door and headed into the oh-so-familiar apartment.

It looked exactly like it usually did. Akaashi almost forgot that he might have an intruder - if it wasn’t for the thunder of his heart, he would have felt right at home. 

Bokuto shimmied out of both his shoes at the same time and jogged through the apartment, poking his head through each doorway. 

“There’s no one here,” he concluded, scratching his head, as Keiji pressed a hand against his chest. 

“I’ll be quick,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “Please keep an eye out for him.” 

“Okay!” Bokuto called, saluting dramatically. 

Keiji snorted. What a guy. 

He opened the closet to retrieve his clothing and his blood ran cold. Hung alongside his own clothing were suits too broad, too American to be his own. Suits that should be on a plane back to America right now, with his father, who should be on a plane back to America. His suspicions from lunch earlier in the week reared up horribly, and it made his dizzy. 

“Akaashi?” Bokuto called, concerned by the complete silence.

“What?” Keiji said, but his voice wasn’t strong enough to carry clearly. 

“You okay? It got super quiet in here-“ Bokuto poked his head in and stopped talking. “You’re really pale, Akaashi.”

“He’s not leaving,” Keiji whispered, staring at the vicious mix of clothing. 

“Who?”

“My father. There never was a return flight.”

“But … is he intending on moving in here? There’s only one bedroom.”

“Futon.”

“But why wouldn’t he tell you that?” 

That’s the source of the fear, Keiji thought. Is he still trying to change it, to save face by saying nothing of the truth? Or does he have something worse up his sleeve? “I don’t know.”

“What do you want to do?” Bokuto asked. 

“I don’t know.” There was only so much emotional energy left in him for this, only so much more to give up to anger, or grief, or disbelief, or stress. But there it was, and he had to sit down. “I don’t know anymore.” 

“Akaashi?” 

Desperate laughter broke out. “It’s over. If he’s here, that means he’s going to kill me, doesn’t it?” 

Bokuto stared as Keiji doubled over with laughter. It sounded a bit like he was sobbing. After a minute of watching his friend’s uncharacteristic display of unbridled emotion, Bokuto realized that he was. Tears splattered on the floor around his feet, even as he laughed miserably. 

Bokuto sat next to him and waited for it to pass, like he had in the past, and pass it did, like it always had. 

“It’ll be okay, Akaashi,” he said quietly. 

“How?” Keiji demanded gruffly, face buried in his knees. “How is any of this going to be okay? My father is going to kill me.” 

“He won’t. You’re his kid.”

He doesn’t care about me at all, Keiji thought. He won’t even hesitate. 

“I need to get out of here before he comes back,” he said, standing and pulling his clothing from the closet. He extricated his little collection of knee braces from the back and shoved them into his duffel bag. “Kuroo will have to put up with me a little longer, unfortunately.”

Bokuto frowned. “So you’re just going to run away?” he asked. 

Keiji froze. “What?” 

“I said, are you just going to run away?” 

“What would you have me do instead?”

“Find out the truth, I guess. You’re the smart one.” 

He stared, anger flaring ugly and hot in his stomach. For Bokuto of all people to accuse him of running away-

“Olivia,” Keiji said suddenly. He pulled out his phone and tapped out a hasty message. 

“Huh?”

“You’re right. Why didn’t I think of it?”

“That’s why I’m the best, duh.” Bokuto grinned, and Keiji returned a feeble smile. 

“Can you grab the box at the back of the shelf? I’m not tall enough.”

“Mm? Yeah.” Bokuto, on his tip-toes, reached through all the random crap on the shelf and withdrew the heavy, wooden box at the back. “This one?”

Keiji nodded. “If that bastard is staying here, I don’t want him to find it.”

“What is it?” Bokuto asked curiously.

Keiji gestured for him to look as he struggled to zip his bag shut. Bokuto eased it open, and caught his breath. 

“This is all of them, isn’t it? Photos of your mom,” he said quietly. 

Keiji nodded. “Everything I could get my hands on.” The compulsion to keep records of his mother was all-consuming and incredibly isolating at times. Both of his parents were only children, and their parents were all deceased. Keiji had not a single soul to share his memories or his grief with but his father, who couldn’t bear to see her face or hear her name after she died. 

Bokuto closed the box carefully, thoughtful. “I didn’t know her as well as I wish I had, but I think she’d be cheering you on.” 

Keiji smiled softly. “She always was, even when I was doing something stupid,” he said. “Thanks, Bokuto.” 

“Hey Akaashi?” Bokuto asked as Keiji tapped away at his phone. He looked up. “I still don’t understand what exactly is going on, but can I guess?”

“Go ahead,” he offered. 

“You and Tsukki are seeing each other.” 

He said it so matter-of-factly, so surely, that Keiji’s phone slid through his fingers, clattering onto the floor. “What?” 

“Like, dating, right?” Bokuto said, head tilting. 

“Wh-what makes you say that?” 

Bokuto set the box next to Akaashi, drumming his fingers on his jeans. “Because it’s true, I guess.” 

Keiji stared at him, wide eyed. How? When? Was it conjecture, or a real observation? 

Bokuto ran his hands through his hair. “Ahhh, don’t look at me like that,” he said roughly. “People always assume I don’t pay attention, but that’s not true. I pay attention to you, and to Kuroo. Especially after your mom died, and you got really sad, I realized that I hadn’t seen it coming and that scared me, y’know? You’re my best friend and I was totally oblivious to the stress you were under or the pain you were in.” 

There was prickling behind his eyes again, the threat of further waterworks, and a lot of heat in his stomach - guilt or gratitude, he couldn’t tell. There was no energy left to decipher it. 

“How long?” Keiji asked quietly.

“How long what?”

“When-“ he choked on the question. “When did you figure it out?” 

“Karaoke. You kept looking at your phone, and then you kept bringing him up.”

“Did I-“

“You didn’t say anything explicit or anything like that,” Bokuto assured him. “But you clearly missed him a lot. It just kind of clicked.”

“Is that why Kuroo called him?” 

Bokuto shook his head. “You obviously aren’t into telling anyone about it, since you didn’t tell me or Kuroo, so you’re worried about your dad finding out, right?”

Keiji sighed. “You’re not wrong.” It seemed pointless to deny what his owlish friend obviously knew already.

Bokuto considered, glancing towards the front door. “Do you need anything else?”

“Not right now,” he said, zipping the bag shut and shouldering it. It seemed to carry the weight of all the decisions to come in the near future. “Let’s go before he returns.” 

Bokuto ruffled Keiji’s hair (who managed a sharp “ugh” in response) before striding to the front door to check for Hiroshi again. 

With the all-clear and the box of photos clutched tightly in his arms, Keiji escaped his apartment.

 

Work was busy. People were everywhere, and the drink tickets never seemed to grow any smaller in quantity. Although he didn’t spill a single drink tonight and his hands listened to him, Keiji realized that he didn’t especially enjoy this line of work. The lights and the noise and the performance of it - absolutely exhausting. He wasn’t much of a morning person in that he hated being woken against his will and he was slow to get started, but he was notoriously grumpy after late nights. 

For tonight, however, it was the perfect cover. He’d elected not to talk to Tsukishima about this quite yet - he would tell him tomorrow, when he had answers to his many questions. Any peril he might be putting himself in was unavoidable at this point, he figured. Luckily, Kuroo was at volleyball tonight too, and wouldn’t have any inkling to what Keiji was up to until later, if ever. 

Hachiro sidled up to him, careful to avoid getting in Keiji’s way. “Goro-san’s headed this way. Are you sure about this? It’s unusual for you.” 

Akaashi dried his hands as he stepped back from the bar. “I’m very sure. Thank you for this, Hachiro,” Keiji said. 

“To think, one day Akaashi would invite a girl to the club …” he heard Hachiro mutter as Keiji slid out to meet the blonde crossing the club towards him, that ever impish smile on her pink lips. 

“You’re full of surprises, Keiji,” she greeted, holding out her hand to him. 

He took her wrist gently, drawing her through the club. “Please do not call me by my first name. We are not that close,” he said curtly. She blinked, momentarily surprised. 

“The surprises continue,” she said in a low voice, smiling widely. He wished she would stop looking like she was having fun; Keiji and his knotted insides were most definitely not. 

“What should I call you then?”

“Akaashi.”

“Oh really?”

He raised his brows, pulling to a halt before an empty two-person booth with a small ‘reserved’ sign in the middle. 

“Oh, come on. You think I didn’t notice how much you loathe your father?” she laughed, touching his arm briefly as she slid into the booth opposite him. “To think you would choose to be addressed the same way seems self-punishing, doesn’t it?” 

Lacing his fingers together, he leaned his elbows onto the table, locking eyes with her. “I choose to be addressed appropriately.” 

Olivia’s smile stuttered. She seemed to get the hint that Keiji had no patience for humouring her tonight, despite his invitation. 

“If you’re going to ruin my evening, you should at least buy me a drink,” she complained, slouching. “What did you want?”

“Clarification.”

She raised her brows. “Interesting. Go on.”

“Your father - what is his position, exactly?” Keiji pressed.

“Oh god, it’s boring. Liaison and communications or something? Your dad was supposed to be showing him the ropes and introducing him to all the people he’ll be in contact with from home, cause it’s the position that he used to have.”

So I was right, Keiji thought. Hiroshi’s been replaced, and possibly demoted. 

“Your dad is supposedly returning to a position he had before, Dad said. Does he not talk to you?”

“We are not on good terms, as you guessed,” Keiji said flippantly. He wouldn’t get anything from her if he lied to her. 

“Wow,” she said, with an exaggerated O shape to her lips. Keiji flagged down one of the hosts heading to the bar and asked him to place a drink order for him too. Unusual as the request was, the young man agreed with a unsure glance at Keiji and Olivia. “Our dads are pretty keen on us dating, aren’t they, Akaashi?” 

“They are,” Keiji agreed, though Patrick Hamer’s apparent support for this strange scheme was a surprise. “Do you not take issue with it?”

“I thought about it, for a while. I was pretty excited to meet you, actually. A hot, professional flirt from a foreign country? It sounded fun.” She shrugged one shoulder, tucking her hair behind her ear. “But then I met you and, while you’re a lovely piece of meat, you’re super not into me.”

“Nor any other woman,” Keiji replied. This one hurt a lot more to say with a straight face, but he did.  
There was a beat before Olivia smiled widely, leaning over the table towards him. Her wide eyes sparkled. “I like you a lot better in this light, I think.”

“The light in here hasn’t changed,” Keiji said, frowning. 

She laughed. Drinks arrived in a quick exchange of thanks. “You have my full attention now Akaashi. What’s the situation?”

“I was hoping that you knew,” Keiji admitted. “My father has moved into my apartment without forewarning.”

“That’s so rude. Maybe it’d be fine while you were away, but to do it while you’re still here and without talking to you is crossing the line.”

Keiji frowned further. “While I’m still here?”

“Before the internship?” 

“What internship?” Keiji’s skin crawled unpleasantly. Of course. 

Confusion crossed Olivia face. “Yeah, at the New York City cite, right? There’s a summer internship that starts in a couple of weeks.”

“I never applied for an internship.” 

Olivia stared at him, lips parted before covering her laughing lips with a hand. “Wow. Oh wow.” 

Heat stirred in his blood, like it had when he’d fought with his father. He knitted his fingers together, nails digging into the skin. 

“Apparently, things have gone way too far without my knowing,” he said, through a strained smile. 

“I’ll say. It’s actually incredible how fucked-up that is. Your dad is a real life evil step-parent archetype.” 

“Not appreciated,” Akaashi said shortly. The upper limits of dysfunction in his family as he had thought them seemed to be much higher and his apparent ignorance was both humiliating and crushing. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Olivia said, tucking her hair behind her ears. “You know, it’s not that big of a deal, being gay.”  
Keiji narrowed his eyes, jaw clenching tightly. 

“There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s not like you have any choice, and you’re not hurting anyone.” She reached over and slid his drink closer to him. “Anyone willing to hurt someone for something meeting those criteria is the worse party, I think.” 

He wasn’t sure he could unclench his jaw enough to take a drink or utter a word in response. There was sense in what she said. A nauseating amount of sense. Maybe that was relief. 

Sighing, she leaned her cheek into her palm, tapping her nail on her temple. “Every time someone chooses to be themselves, the world becomes a better, brighter place. And you never know who’ll get the courage to be themselves from seeing you be yourself. Whatever you choose to do, I’m on your side, Akaashi,” she said. “As long you promise to take me out for an honest good time before I go home.” 

“Why?” Keiji asked stiffly.

“Because I’m not a monster like your father,” Olivia scoffed. 

Joints creaking, he picked up his glass. “Then we have a date, Miss Hamer.”

“I’ll drink to that,” she said delightedly, clinking her glass against his. 

 

Kei couldn’t sleep. 

It wasn’t for lack of trying, nor lack of exhaustion. When he reached into his past for a comparison, what came back was the training camp where he’d met Akaashi, Kuroo and Bokuto for the first time, and he’d worked his ass off for days at a time against his will in the blazing summer heat. 

And yet, morning came, and the sun rose, and Akiteru made coffee and chatted merrily on the phone with his fiancee, all while Kei lay in the darkness with his arms over his face and a clenched jaw and a pounding headache. 

Akaashi, that bastard. Both of them, father and son. 

Every time Kei began to doze, Akaashi’s faint voice whispering “I don’t want you to go,” would come back to him in sharp, clear detail and he was awake, staring at the ceiling and missing the weight and heat of Akaashi with him amidst the sheets, and the sweep of his fingertips tracing shapes on Kei’s skin as he drifted off the sleep. It was an acute pain, like a dull knife needling against his sternum. 

“Stupid Akaashi. Stupid Akaashi’s dad.” Rolling over for the umpteenth time, he sat up and punched the pillow into shape, then again just for the satisfaction, and again because it wasn’t very satisfying at all to be punching pillows on zero hours of sleep and he was exhausted and angry and upset and so bloody tired. 

“What did that pillow ever do to you?” Akiteru asked, letting himself in. 

“Leave me alone,” Kei griped, squinting at the shape of his brother.

“What’s on your mind, Kei?” Akiteru sat on the floor across from him. 

“Nothing. I just couldn’t sleep. I’m fine.”

“That pillow would say differently.”

“It was uncomfortable. You know what, forget the pillow. I’m just tired.” 

“Kei,” Akiteru said, in that firm but kind voice that killed Kei to lie to. 

He sighed, flopping onto his back. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Akiteru waited, occasionally sipping his coffee. The blinds brightened with the sun and all the hours awake, with the promise of a restless day to follow. 

“You how, when you were thinking about proposing, you said you felt like you might die on the spot if she said no?” Kei muttered, arms over his face. 

“Oh, Kei,” Akiteru started softly, watching his baby brother tremble. 

“Over and over, he kept saying no,” he continued, “and I couldn’t stand it anymore. But now he’s going to get hurt because of me, of us.” The pressure of his bare forearms over his face couldn’t stop the saltwater from escaping the sea. “Why, why did I ever fall for him?” 

“It’s rarely a choice,” Akiteru whispered. 

“How do I make it stop?” Kei whispered, hands turning to fists in the cuffs of his shirt. “How do you make it fucking stop?”

“It hurts, doesn’t it? Caring about someone so much.” Setting his coffee aside, he crawled to the bedside and lay one hand on Kei’s rising and falling abdomen, petting his hair with the other like he used to when his brother was still a child.

Well, a much younger child.

Kei’d never been given to crying like other kids his age. Scrapes, bruises and broken bones were handled with sarcasm and stubbornness, and wailing was reserved only for invisible, and therefore, difficult to mend pains of the heart; even then, it seemed to be involuntary. He had not wept nor wailed in quite some time. 

But here, words failed him when he still needed to say something, and so the wordless cries of his sadness overwhelmed his pride and made their muffled escapes. 

Akiteru kneeled by the bed, grounding his young brother with his steady hands and quiet words. He’d not done so since Kei was a child either, before their massive falling out. All these years had passed, but somehow this had stayed the same at age 21 as it had at five. 

“How do you stand it?” Kei whispered. “I feel like I’m dying.” 

“You’re not dying,” Akiteru said softly. “You’re having feelings. Those are different.”

“Fuck you.” Kei managed an ounce of venom, but his brother laughed. 

“I don’t mean to make light of what you’re going through,” he said, ruffling his hair. “I promise it won’t feel like this forever.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re only saying that. Are you okay?” 

Kei nodded, sniffing. “I’m gonna call him, so get out please.” 

“Okay. I’m gonna be home for a bit longer, but I’ve got to go out to do some stuff. If you need anything, let me know, okay?” 

Kei nodded again. As his brother was sliding the door closed, he said, “Thanks, Aki.”

He paused. “Any time, Kei.”

Once his brother left, Kei scrubbed at his eyes until he was satisfied that his face was dry and no more tears would come. Losing it in front of his brother was one thing. Losing it again, or while talking to Akaashi was another thing, but he hadn’t heard from Akaashi since he went to his apartment yesterday. He had no idea if his father was still there or where they stood now. 

The first call went to voicemail, sending up a red flag. 

Sitting up, he dialled again. This time, the line picked up, but the greeting was too cold, too deep, too threatening. He could hear his prince in there, but- 

“Hello, Tsukishima-kun. I suppose you’re looking for my son,” said the tyrant father.

That answered that question, and raised another. Where the hell was Akaashi? 

“Don’t you dare fucking touch him, you bastard,” Kei snarled, disconnecting the call before there was a chance for Hiroshi to respond. Despite his sleepessness, he was suddenly possessed with a feverish need to move or hit something. Mostly hit something.  
He dialled Kuroo’s number, but it went to voicemail. 

So did the second call, and the third. 

Furiously, he dialled Bokuto’s number next. His owlish friend answered the second call with a bleary, “Hello?”

“Is Akaashi with you?” Kei snapped, fumbling for his glasses. “Kuroo isn’t answering his phone.” 

“Wha-? Why would you call Kuroo if you were looking for Akaashi?”

“Because when I called Akaashi’s phone, his father picked up,” Kei growled, yanking clean jeans out of his drawer. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. I take it you don’t know where he is.”

“I haven’t seen him since he went to work last night. His dad wasn’t there when we stopped in,” Bokuto said, worry loud in his voice. “Kuroo is probably still asleep.” 

“Fuck.” Kei hung up on him. 

Something was wrong, he was sure. The way that Hiroshi answered the phone … 

Akaashi didn’t usually lock his phone.

He didn’t usually text Kei implicating things.

He didn’t usually text him things like ‘i love you, just in case you didn’t know.’

His father wasn’t usually around to parse through his recent messages and the secrets they contained.

“No. No, no, no, no.” Kei changed faster than he ever had in his life, forgoing socks and a clean shirt entirely, cramming wallet and phone into his pockets as he tore out of his room.

“Kei? Are you okay?” Akiteru asked, appearing at the noise and surprised to see Kei struggling to put his shoes on fast enough. 

“I tried to call him and his father answered. I’m going over there,” he said through clenched teeth, finally getting his foot in the shoe and running out the door. 

It was useless to agonize over the possibilities, but it didn’t stop him. 

What if Akaashi had discovered the disappearance of his phone, and realizing the same tell-tale evidence it contained, rushed home to try and recover it? What if his father had already found the phone and all its secrets? What if Akaashi was already caught or in danger? 

My fault, my fault, my fault. 

Thank whoever for the running he’d been doing with Akaashi was a few years now, or he would have been winded pretty quickly. He took the stairs into the train station three at a time, heart pounding in his throat and threatening to choke him.

Other people barely avoided him, staring and wondering aloud what his problem was.

Kei knee bounced relentlessly for the entire trip underground, and he pelted out of the station like the devil himself was after him. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it was the other way around. 

It would have been nice if he could somehow believe that Akaashi would abandon the phone when he discovered it missing, trusting it to run out of battery and thus be relatively inert in his fathers hands, but Kei knew better. Anxiety had run all of his familial relations since his injury and it would compel him to go back. 

‘I assume you’re looking for my son.’ There was no way Hiroshi didn’t know about them. 

He fumbled to enter the pin code for the front door to Akaashi’s building and startled another student in the stairwell as he took them two at a time. 

The door was locked when Kei tried it. What does that mean? Is Akaashi there or not? 

It opened before Kei could decide his next course of action. 

The similarity was striking and uncomfortable; Akaashi Hiroshi had the same mouth, the same jaw as his son. His dark hair curled ever-so-slightly at the ends, even slicked back and streaked with silver. The way he raised his chin and looked at Kei through the same thick lashes was something Kei had seen Akaashi Keiji do many times. He was taller than Akaashi, but still nothing compared to Kei’s considerable height. 

It didn’t make him any less intimidating.

“Where is he?” 

The demand came out in unison, echoing. Relief flooded Kei, but Hiroshi’s agitation suddenly became clear in the set of his shoulder and tension in his throat. 

“I don’t know what you think you would accomplish by coming here, but you’ll never see my son again,” Hiroshi growled. 

Relief vanished. “Where is he?” Kei demanded again. 

“Why would I tell a leech like you?” Hiroshi said coldly. 

What if I was too late? Kei hadn’t let himself think through to what he would do if Akaashi had come back and his father had already done exactly what he’d predicted. It stole the air from his lungs and his mouth and every cell in his body. 

“If you’ve hurt him-“

The crack of skin on skin, the clatter of glasses on the ground rendered the space around them into a silent razor’s edge. 

“I will not stand here and listen to this, from some disreputable homo who’s bewitched my son into being even more of a disgrace!” Hiroshi snarled through his teeth, vein jumping in his temple. 

Kei had never been struck before. Not deliberately. Certainly never so hard to make him stagger, his skin to burn or his head to spin. The vicious novelty of the attack robbed him momentarily of his wits. 

“Tsukishima?” Akaashi’s whisper cut through the silence. It came down around them like an avalanche, crashing in around them as Tsukishima raised his blurry gaze to the figure stalled at the top of the stairs. 

Akaashi picked up Kei’s glasses. 

He slid them back onto Kei's face, giving the world detail again. 

He turned to his father, stiff and cold and so angry he vibrated. “My phone.” 

“We are-“

“Shut up. Give me my phone,” Akaashi barked, raising his voice. He put himself between Kei and Hiroshi, who bristled.

“Keiji-“

“Given your tantrum, there will surely be police here at any moment and I’d rather not be caught committing patricide, so return my phone and get the hell out of my country.” Spring retreated from the ice in Akaashi’s voice. He held his hand out for his phone. 

Hiroshi glared at the two of them. “You know what this little rebellion means, don’t you?” 

“It means you no longer get to call yourself a father,” Akaashi said. “Give. Me. My. Phone.” 

After a long, agonizing minute of father and son staring each other down, Hiroshi slowly handed over the phone. 

Akaashi shoved it into his pocket, turned and steered Kei away from the apartment with a shaking hand on his back.

 

They made it outside the building before Akaashi’s composure evaporated and he turned back towards the building. Kei lunged, wrapping his arms around Akaashi waist and pinning his arms to his sides.

“I’m going to kill him. Let me go,” he snarled, writhing to get free. His entire body shook and his skin was feverish with fury. “Tsukishima, let me go!” 

“No,” Kei said, tightening his hold. 

“Let go! I swear to God, I’m going to make him pay, that fucking bastard-“

“Akaashi, calm down,” Kei pleaded. 

“I will after I kill my father. Let me go, Tsukishima.” 

“No, Akaashi, please-“ He struggled to keep his grip. 

“Fucking let me go!” Akaashi snarled. "Let go! Tsuki-"

“So you can be exactly like him?” Kei snapped.

Akaashi stilled, but his breath still came in hard furious gasps. “I am nothing like him,” he hissed. “I am nothing like my father.” 

“How is this any different?” Kei pressed. “You’re angry, so you’re gonna beat him?” How else do I stop you?

“He hit you,” Akaashi whispered, voice breaking. “Because of me.” 

“So what?”

“Why did you come here?”

“He answered your phone. I thought you were in danger.” 

Some of the anger ebbed from Akaashi’s frame and he stopped fighting. “You idiot.”

“Says the idiot who left his unlocked, amply charged phone in enemy territory! What the fuck!” 

“I obviously didn’t do it on purpose,” Akaashi said, exhaustion creeping into his voice. “You can let me go now.”

Kei hesitated before releasing him. 

“Let me see your face. Are you okay?” he said, gently taking Kei’s face in his hands. His thumb skirted across the smarting on his cheek and he flinched. “It might need ice.”

“This isn’t your fault.” Kei said softly. “A lot of things this week are, but this isn’t.”

“Let’s leave before I change my mind about committing homicide,” Akaashi said. “And we can talk about it then.” 

Kei nodded as Akaashi lowered his hands, then his gaze. “I never meant for things to go like this.”

It wasn’t how Kei had thought things would go either. He’d never had any intention of falling in love with the beautiful upperclassman from another school he met at a volleyball training camp, nor had he anticipated anything that came after. But he didn’t regret any of it. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Kei said, taking Akaashi’s hand and winding their fingers together. 

“Some day, it won’t,” Akaashi relented. “I’m sorry, Tsukishima.”

“Apologize for things that are your fault, Akaashi.” 

He nodded quietly, letting Kei lead him away from his home and the man he’d once called father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wahhhh this took me so long to write, my apologies! got bogged down a bit (also started writing another fic as you might have seen -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/13009194/chapters/29749329 )
> 
> I also did not proofread this before posting, so. 
> 
> ALSO CHECK OUT THIS SUPER COOL ART THAT @CABOOOSE DID FOR THIS https://archiveofourown.org/works/7153160/chapters/16240397


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